“Is it over?” the driver asked.
“It’s over,” Duke confirmed. “Now get her home or so help me…”
“Not without you.” She grabbed Duke’s hand.
“I’m fetching the local sheriff and some men.” He nodded his head toward his horse that had found its way into the graveyard. “But I won’t be long. I’ll be back for you.” He took her chin in his hand and pressed a firm kiss to her lips, then forced her to meet his determined gaze. “I’ll be back soon enough.”
“Don’t leave me, Duke.” Her voice caught. He was bruised, his shirt was torn, his face and arms dirtied. She longed to press her face to his chest and listen to the soothing thud of his heart. “Do not leave me,” she begged more forcefully, wrapping both arms around his neck.
“Never.” He eased her arms from his neck and nodded to the driver. “Never, I promise.”
Violet twisted to watch him, and he gave a wave as though he was waving her off after a ball or a dinner party. She wrapped her arms about herself. She was done waiting—she knew all she needed to know about Duke—reputations and past be damned. Did she, a Musgrave, not understand how one’s past did not make up the sum of a person?
She loved Duke and always would. Now he just had to return to her so she could tell him as much.
∞∞∞
“Duke!”
He found himself buried in soft silk, warm skin, and the fragrance of soap and something floral. If he had been less tired, he might have been able to pinpoint Violet’s fragrance, but Duke could not name a part of him that didn’t hurt.
The warmth of the entranceway of Porchester House seeped through his clothing, combating the freezing chill that had eaten through his borrowed coat many hours ago. The lit chandelier offered out welcome relief from the blackness outside after dark fell several hours ago. Nothing was as warm and as lovely as her though.
Violet peppered kisses across his face then drew back, allowing him to appreciate her spectacular smile. The slender scratch upon her cheek gave him pause, though she did not let him linger on it for long, drawing him back into her firm hold to press a solid kiss to his mouth.
He lifted a brow and glanced around at the audience awaiting him. Violet’s mother, father, three sisters, and even Aunt Sarah, the cat, and his father watched on. The only one who looked the slightest bit stern was Roman who remained tucked behind everyone with his arms folded, a glower Duke swore he probably practiced in a mirror engraved into his expression.
“They know,” she whispered.
“Know what?”
“What’s happened to the blackguard?” Violet’s father asked.
“Does the sheriff have them in hand?” her mother said.
“I hope you gave them a beating!” Aunt Sarah offered.
Violet’s sisters offered similar suggestions of what might be done to the men who had kidnapped their sister. After Violet released him, he held up both hands and waited for the group to quieten.
“You should not have gone alone,” Roman grumbled.
Duke gave his friend an affectionate look. They could not be more opposite—Roman being the stiff, dutiful sort—but he could not ask for a better friend. The man was angry at being left out of the damned danger.
“I didn’t have time,” Duke said, “or else you know I would not have gone without you.”
“You’re lucky you came back alive,” he grumbled but he unfolded his arms and his posture softened. “What happened in the end then? Violet said it was Doyle’s son himself.”
Duke nodded. “His man made an escape to a nearby farm by the time I arrived with the sheriff and a few local men, but unfortunately for him, he decided to hide on Mr. Gibson’s farm.
“Oh.” Violet chuckled. “He loathes strangers. Did he run at him with a pitchfork?”
Lilly nodded. “He once went after me with it when I was but eight.”
“He cornered him, and he is being held at Bath Gaol,” Duke confirmed. “He shall go to trial for kidnapping without a doubt.”
No one breathed a sigh of relief or uttered any words of approval as he might have expected. They stared at him, the tension rippling through his audience. He scrubbed a hand across his face.
“Patrick Doyle was still in the church when we arrived.” He glanced at Violet. She’d witnessed plenty of violence today—things he hoped she would never see again in her lifetime. He only hoped none of this lingered in her mind after today. “He struck his head badly but was alive.”