Page 41 of Wedded to the Duke of Sin (Dukes of Passion #2)
CHAPTER 41
T he crossroads beyond Hampstead Heath loomed dark and silent as Dorian reined his horse to a stop.
A waning moon cast just enough light to reveal a carriage in the shadows, its black paint blending with the night.
“Punctual as ever, Your Grace.” Treyfield emerged from behind the carriage, two thugs flanking him. “And alone, as instructed. How gratifying to see that you can follow simple directions when properly motivated.”
“Where is my wife?” Dorian asked coldly.
“Safe. For now.” Treyfield waved his hand, and one of his men moved toward a small cottage just off the road. “Though her well-being depends entirely on your cooperation.”
“If you’ve harmed her—” Dorian broke off as they brought Alice forward, his rage flaring at the sight of the darkening mark on her face.
“Such drama.” Treyfield’s smile held no warmth. “Really, Your Grace, did you think I wouldn’t notice your sudden interest in certain parts of London? The way you’ve been hiding something—or should I say someone—these past months?”
“If this is about Lawrence?—”
“Of course, it’s about Lawrence!” Treyfield’s composure cracked. “My dear nephew, who so inconveniently developed a conscience. Who threatened to reveal certain irregularities unless I supported his ridiculous plan to marry some whore?—”
“You’ll want to choose your next words very carefully.” Dorian’s voice dropped to that dangerous growl that made lesser men tremble.
“Or what?” Treyfield laughed, the sound brittle. “Did you watch him waste away while the physicians scratched their heads? A few drops in his wine each night. Untraceable. The perfect way to ensure that the earldom was passed on to steadier hands.”
The admission hung in the night air, damning in its casualness.
Dorian clenched his hands at his sides, but his voice remained steady. “And now?”
“Now you’ll tell me where you’re hiding his whore and her bastard.” Treyfield moved closer to Alice. “I will not allow my nephew’s mistake to ruin my reputation. I am the earl now, and I deserve to preserve my legacy. So tell me where the harlot is now. Or your Duchess might meet a similar fate.”
Time seemed to slow down. Dorian met Alice’s eyes, seeing not fear but trust in their green depths. His hand moved to his coat pocket, where a small flash powder charge waited—a trick he had learned in his rakish days that might buy them precious seconds.
“The school on Crawford Street,” he said flatly. “Second floor, east wing.”
“Dorian, no!” The anguish in Alice’s voice cut him to the bone.
“Morgan.” Treyfield nodded to one of his men. “Take two others and?—”
Everything happened at once. Dorian’s hand moved like lightning, the flash powder arcing through the air. The explosion of light momentarily blinded everyone. In that instant of confusion, he launched himself at Morgan, throwing years of boxing at Jackson’s Salon behind his blow.
Alice didn’t hesitate. Using the moves Thomas had taught her, she drove her elbow into her captor’s stomach and broke free.
“Kill them!” Treyfield’s voice cracked with desperation.
He raised his pistol, but Dorian was already moving, placing himself between the weapon and Alice.
A gunshot went off as Dorian tackled him to the ground. The pistol skidded away in the dirt as they grappled. Dorian’s fist connected with Treyfield’s jaw, the satisfying crunch barely registering through his fury.
“Your Grace!” One of the ostlers from the nearby inn came running at the sound of the gunshot, with others close behind.
Perfect timing, exactly as Dorian had planned when he’d stopped there earlier to ensure that help would be nearby.
Morgan and the others, seeing their master subdued and witnesses approaching, fled into the night.
Treyfield lay unconscious from Dorian’s blows. His earlier confession about Lawrence was witnessed by enough local men to ensure that justice would finally be served.
As the ostlers secured Treyfield, Dorian turned to Alice. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” She swayed slightly as he pulled her into his arms. “Sarah? Is she?—”
“Safe at one of Gregory’s hunting lodges.” His fingers ghosted over her bruised cheek. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I never meant?—”
“Hush.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “We have much to discuss, you and I. But first…” She leaned into his strength, exhaustion finally claiming her.
“First,” he said firmly, lifting her into his arms, “we’re going home.”
Behind them, the ostlers and gathered witnesses efficiently handled Treyfield, who would soon face the magistrate’s justice. But Dorian barely noticed, too focused on the precious woman in his arms as he carried her to his waiting carriage.
They had much to resolve between them, many wounds to heal. But for now, he was content to hold her.