Page 29 of The Duke’s Cursed Virgin (Cursed Brides #3)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“ S ophia!”

The carriage lurched violently, and Theo could see the shift in Sophia’s expression.

Anger. Surprise. Bewilderment. Fear.

Then, they were all gone. It seemed like his wife had retreated deep inside herself and had become hollow.

It was a terrifying sight.

However, there was not much time to think. Theo grabbed Sophia and pulled her down as a second shot shattered the window.

“Stay down,” he whispered, shielding her body with his own, even as the carriage shook wildly, out of control.

It tumbled sideways with a sharp crack of the wooden walls.

Theo could swear he heard horses galloping away from—or damn it, perhaps toward—the scene of the crime, but it could also be the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his heart that made things difficult to decipher. The assailants could still be near, waiting to inflict more damage.

“F-father,” Sophia whimpered against his chest.

Theo clutched her close to him. It was a natural pull, an instinct that he had been trying to battle against. It was difficult to think now—to listen and find out just how much of a chance they had to live or die or simply to escape.

“W-What’s happening?” she sobbed, shaking as if she were burning with fever.

“We need to jump off,” he told her as gently as he could, given the circumstances. “The carriage has fallen onto its side. We have to leave through the window.”

“N-No! I can’t do that. That’s not how—or was it?”

“Not how what, Sophia?” Theo kept his voice soft even as his wife’s eyes glazed over.

He suspected that she had retreated into her mind again. She had left the present scene and hid within the fringes of a nightmare.

“How did you survive back then? You must have gotten out of the carriage at some point.”

There were more heaving cries from her. She was shaking, and he could feel the strange beginnings of what felt like delirium.

Hers. His. It no longer mattered.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Sophia asked.

For a brief moment, Theo wasn’t certain who she was asking about—the coachman, or her father, who died years ago.

“Yes. That’s why we need to get out of the carriage as soon as possible.”

In one swift, graceful move, Theo hauled himself and Sophia out through the window. Sophia seemed to have shut down further, closing her eyes and stretching her arms to the heavens as if she were drowning.

Soon, the two of them were breathing hard on the ground. They had rolled out safely, with barely a bruise.

Theo’s eyes darted left and right, trying to see where the attack was coming from. The second shot didn’t feel like the last one.

True enough, someone fired a shot just above Sophia’s right shoulder. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. Despite that, she didn’t seem like she was fully conscious. She was deathly pale, holding onto Theo’s arm.

He could shield her from gunshots, but apparently, he could not protect her from her nightmares.

While Theo didn’t want to leave her, he could see that the two attackers would not rest until they had killed or at least badly injured them.

“Darling, I want you to stay right here,” he whispered to Sophia, who barely reacted.

Even as Theo’s heart thudded in his chest, he set off to face the attackers. One had jumped off his horse and was running toward him, while the other was still on horseback.

He had to act. Now.

“Who sent you?” he demanded.

No answer.

One aimed a gun at him. Heart racing, he flung himself at the man, knocking him down with his heavier weight. The man’s gun flew into the air.

With a knee pressed on the assailant’s chest, Theo grabbed the flying gun and aimed it at assailant number two. He fired without hesitating, aiming for the man’s right arm.

The man gave a loud yelp before falling off his horse. The fall seemed to be accompanied by a crack.

Theo then stood up and aimed the gun at the man on the ground. His eyes narrowed, and he considered simply firing at the attacker’s head.

His finger curled around the trigger?—

“Please…” Sophia’s soft wail that stopped him.

No. He couldn’t let his wife see him turn into a murderer. Not when a real murderer had taken so much from her.

Besides, Foxmere was the one who deserved his ire. His fists. These men were mere lackeys.

Theo glanced at the other attacker; he was on the ground beneath his horse, possibly nursing a fracture.

“Who sent you?” Theo asked coldly, turning back to the second attacker beneath him.

The man clenched his jaw, refusing to answer.

Wrong choice .

Theo slammed the butt of his pistol into the man’s ribs, drawing a grunt of pain. “I won’t ask again.”

Still, the man hesitated.

With a growl of disgust, Theo kicked him hard in the thigh—enough to make the man gasp and writhe, but not enough to break bone. “You think I am being generous because I’ve run out of rage?”

The man spat blood, then finally coughed, “Foxmere. It was Foxmere.”

Theo straightened slowly, eyes burning. Of course it was.

“P-Please, Your Grace,” the man stuttered, raising his arms as if to defend himself. “H-He promised us a large amount of money.”

Theo placed his boot on his ankle.

“Ah. So, you do know me, and you still decided to kill me?” Theo shook his head in disbelief. Then, he offered his hand to his befallen foe, who was equal parts surprised and afraid. The man knew that the Duke was not looking at it as a joking matter. “Come now. Take my hand.”

“T-Thank you, Your Grace. Y-You won’t kill us?” the man asked, taking Theo’s hand and rising to his feet. “Even though we tried to kill you and your bride?”

Bride . The miscreants knew that he had not been married for long, and yet they were willing to kill them.

He leaned in, his voice low and lethal. “You dared to threaten my wife. That was your first and last mistake.”

With one swift motion, Theo struck both men with brutal precision, knocking them unconscious before they could react.

Theo clutched at the reins tightly, guiding the horses back into motion.

With his coachman dead, he had to drive them back to London.

The poor man was dead.

Sophia had almost died herself. The second shot had been so close.

“Theo,” Sophia moaned.

She was still in a strange state of stupor, sitting next to him. However, Theo had to focus on navigating the cobblestone streets.

Their two assailants were locked in the carriage behind them—the windows had shattered, so Theo had to make sure to stop the carriage and knock them back to sleep each time he heard them stir.

The first time they’d woken up, they had thrashed and made attempts to escape. One was too weak, and the other had a fracture.

Even with their attacker apprehended for now, Theo could not simply relax. Sophia sat quietly next to him. She was too damn quiet.

“Sophia? Are you feeling a little better?” he asked, even as he tried not to let his focus waver.

“Y-Yes. I only wish I was able to assist you earlier,” she said.

While he could not see her, she could feel that she was on edge. She knew that the most difficult confrontation was yet to come. Still, he was relieved that she had regained her strength and consciousness.

“We’re almost there,” Theo reassured, realizing that they had approached wider and less rocky roads.

“You’re right,” she agreed, still leaning against him. He wondered if she was aware of what she was doing.

Night was beginning to settle, and the remaining light would aid them in the final stretch of their journey. Thankfully, Sophia was able to rest.

They were almost home.

Home.

He stole a glance at her beautiful face. There was a time not too long ago when he simply wanted to claim her as his. When he realized what being his entailed, he retreated.

A damn coward . He cursed in his head.

He had almost lost her forever.

What a damned fool he’d been.

“There it is,” Sophia said vaguely.

They arrived in London relatively unscathed. Theo directed the carriage to the nearest watch house. He could not wait to hand over the ruffians to the constables and be done with them.

“Yes. We’re here,” he said with some satisfaction. “You are safe.”

Sophia seemed to have fully regained her senses, standing with an air of quiet strength as the constables attended to the criminals. Once their task was complete, Theo’s first concern was for her well-being before all else.

“Would you be all right if we—” he began asking, their eyes conversing.

It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to get lost in her striking blue eyes.

“I will be fine. I want to see my uncle before the constables take him,” Sophia replied, her back ramrod straight and her gaze steady.

Soon, the two were on their way to Foxmere’s house, tired but determined.

“You should drive the carriage more often,” Sophia suggested, trying to break through the tension. “You do it well.”

Theo thought of his loyal coachman and felt the sting of sadness once more. He reminded himself to ensure that his fallen servant’s family would be taken care of.

Still, that little piece of praise from her… It warmed him.

Had they ever done that to each other before? Compliment each other beyond the bedroom?

Upon arriving at the Marquess’s house, the two immediately jumped off the carriage. Theo knew Sophia was struggling to keep up with him, but he was driven by anger and indignation. He had to see Foxmere immediately.

“Theo, wait,” Sophia called, but her sweet voice barely registered; he was a man possessed.

He shoved himself through the door at the very moment the butler gave him an opening. The servant was startled, falling back when Theo’s shoulder nudged his own. His arrival was like a storm, a violent tempest.

“Your Grace!” was all the stunned butler could say.

“Where is your master?” Theo growled.

He had always been known for his intensity, but he was different tonight, with his voice sharp as a blade and his face red with fury.

Without waiting for an answer, he strode on.

“Theo,” Sophia begged. “Let me handle this. This was my home.”

Then, he noticed the Marchioness at the top of the staircase. She was gaping at them.

“What is happening?” she demanded.

“Please, Daphne,” Sophia requested. “Please, stay back.”

A flicker of fear, confusion, and dawning horror crossed Daphne’s face, but Theo didn’t pause to reassure her.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward Foxmere’s study, each step fueled by purpose and barely contained fury.

The curse would end here. He would make sure of it.

Theo kicked the door open, rattling it against its hinges as it flung open. He was even more enraged to see a relaxed Foxmere sitting behind his desk, sipping brandy, as if he had not sent two men to kill his niece and her new husband.

The Marquess did not have a chance to react. The young Duke was already upon him.

“You bastard!” Theo snarled at the startled Anthony. He slammed a fist on the desk. The papers jumped and fell. “You tried to kill your own niece! Twice!”

Anthony, impossibly composed, barely blinked. He merely looked at Theo innocently, as if he could not believe the audacity of the Duke to assault him in his study.

He shook his head, the smirk on his face further aggravating Theo.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he said smoothly, his brow creased in confusion. “Calm down, boy, or you might say something you’ll regret.”

Theo’s nostrils flared at the insult. How dare he call him ‘boy’ when he was a duke, higher in rank and dignity? What kind of man was he talking to?

“You paid some of your criminals to sabotage her carriage, twice that I know of. Three times, most likely, since it all points to what you did years ago. To your niece. To your own brother.”

“Preposterous!” the Marquess bellowed.

His face had gone pale, though, and his extreme reaction was another proof that Theo had finally struck a chord.

Theo reached into his coat. He pulled out a folded set of documents, the one from the ledger. He slammed them on the desk, enjoying seeing the Marquess finally flinching.

“Bank drafts. To the untrained eye, it all looks legitimate. However, you have been sending payments to a business that does not even exist. The transactions led back to the men who attacked us today. The same men we had caught firing shots at us. The same men I delivered to the constables today and who had confessed as to who had sent them.”

Something like anger and dismay flickered across Anthony’s otherwise impassive face. He did have years of experience deceiving everyone. So, the flicker was gone instantly. It was infuriating to see him recover so quickly.

“You misunderstand, Your Grace,” he said smoothly, reverting to a more formal address. “I am frequently involved in several businesses. Not all investments turn out fruitful. And those men? Why would you believe those men’s words over mine? They are more likely criminals covering their true intentions.”

“You are the one who misunderstands, Foxmere. I have been dabbling in various business ventures since I was young. I know what fraudulent transactions look like,” Theo gritted out, holding onto the last shred of his self-control.

“You know what they look like. Interesting,” Anthony replied, raising his eyebrows.

He meant to provoke, and Theo didn’t like that his temper was rising as intended by his opponent.

“As another businessman to another, you should know what I mean,” Theo retorted, his fists longing to connect with Anthony’s nose.

“Is that what drove you to my doorstep? Or was it my dear niece? I was suspicious about that marriage of yours. Did she agree to a marriage of convenience where other women can come to soil your marital bed?”

The last bit of Theo’s patience snapped. He lunged at the Marquess, grabbing him by the collar. He dragged him away from his desk and slammed his back against a bookcase. Leather-bound volumes rattled. Two books fell on the carpeted floor with a heavy thud.

Theo briefly wondered if those were the former Marquess’s books. Had Sophia been able to read some of the books in this library? Would she have another opportunity to trail her fingers over the leather covers once more?

It didn’t matter. She owned whatever he owned. She could have all his books and more.

“You will not say those things to Sophia. She has suffered so much because of what you did to her!”

“What I did to her? I merely allowed her to leave the country and be safe in Scotland. Was that a sin, to want my niece safe and undisturbed?” Anthony demanded.

“Safe? Safe from you, perhaps. You were also safe from her inquisitive mind. You did not expect her to survive. Sophia is a survivor, and not the cursed woman everyone says she is. Admit it now, Foxmere. No, you don’t deserve that title!”

“Who says? I have always been meant to inherit the title, not my weak brother!”

Anthony wrenched himself out of Theo’s grasp. He looked like a madman, with his wide eyes and clammy skin.

“Admit it,” Theo commanded. “Tell us that you orchestrated the carriage accident six years ago, the one that killed Sophia’s father. Your own brother!”

“You are a madman, Wolvesley,” Anthony muttered, his eyes narrowed. “Everyone is right about you.”

Theo shoved him back. “Say it, Balfour.”

“Stop it!”

For a moment, the Duke was confused when he heard a feminine voice. Then, he realized it was Daphne.

The Marchioness was standing in the doorway, with Sophia right behind her.

“Your Grace, please,” she begged, horror evident on her face.

“I am not doing anything that he does not deserve!” Theo snapped.

“Then, please, Anthony. Think of our children. Please sit down with His Grace and converse like the proper gentlemen you two are. Please!”

“It’s too late for that, Daphne.”

It must have been desperation that made Anthony dive back to his desk, yank a drawer open?—

And pull out a pistol.