Chapter 40
“Get your hands off her.”
Edward did not wait for compliance. He seized Drakeston by the collar and wrenched him away from Sophia, sending the man stumbling backward. His fist connected with Drakeston’s jaw before the marquess could regain his footing.
The impact sang through Edward’s knuckles. Drakeston crashed against the alley wall, his head snapping back, and blood spraying from his split lip.
Edward hit him again.
And again.
Every ounce of fear, every moment of terror since Oliver had told him Sophia was missing, poured through his fists. He drove Drakeston to his knees. He grabbed him by the hair and forced his head back until their eyes met.
“Listen carefully.” Edward’s voice emerged low and lethal, barely recognizable as his own. “Because I will only say this once.”
Drakeston’s face was a ruin of blood and bruises. His eyes rolled with terror, the arrogance stripped away, leaving only the coward beneath.
“You will never come near my wife again.” Edward tightened his grip. “You will never speak to her. Never look at her. Never so much as breathe in her direction.”
“I—I understand—” Drakeston choked on blood and fear.
“I am not finished.” Edward wrenched his head back further. “You will leave England. Tonight. I do not care where you go. France. America. The bottom of the ocean. But if I hear so much as a whisper that you remain on English soil, I will find you.”
He leaned closer, his face inches from Drakeston’s.
“And if I ever hear anyone suggest my wife might be Lady Fairhart, if that rumor finds its way to a single pair of ears, I will know exactly where it came from.” His voice dropped to something barely human.
“And I will break every bone in your body. Slowly. One by one. Until you beg me to let you die.”
Drakeston whimpered. His body shook with violent tremors. The stench of urine filled the alley.
“Do you understand me?” Edward demanded.
“Yes!” The word emerged as a sob. “Yes, I understand. I will go. I will leave. Please—”
Edward released him. Drakeston collapsed onto the cobblestones, gasping and weeping. He scrambled backward on hands and knees, too terrified to stand, too broken to run.
“Go.” Edward stepped back. “Now. Before I change my mind.”
Drakeston found his footing. He staggered toward the far end of the alley, one hand pressed to his ruined face, glancing back with the wide eyes of a hunted animal. Then he disappeared around the corner, his footsteps fading into the pre-dawn silence.
Edward stood motionless, his chest heaving, his hands trembling with spent adrenaline. The rage drained out of him, leaving behind something hollow and shaken.
He turned.
Sophia stood at the mouth of the alley, her face pale, her eyes wide. She had not run. Had not fled to the hackney as he had ordered. She had stayed. Watched.
He crossed to her in three strides and pulled her into his arms.
She was shaking. As was he. They held each other in the narrow alley while the sky lightened overhead, while the city stirred to life around them, while the nightmare receded into memory.
“Are you hurt?” He pulled back to examine her face, her throat, searching for injuries. “Did he—”
“I am all right.” Her voice wavered but held. “Edward, I am all right. You came.”
“Of course I came.” He cupped her face in his bloodied hands. “I will always come for you. Always.”
The sun crested the rooftops, spilling golden light into the alley. Voices echoed from nearby streets. A cart rumbled past. London was waking, and they could not remain here.
“We need to go.” Edward kept his arm around her as he guided her toward the hackney. “Before anyone sees us.”
The driver stood beside his horses, his face a mixture of relief and concern. He helped Sophia into the carriage without comment. Edward followed, pulling the door shut behind them.
“Home,” he called up to the driver. “Quickly.”
The carriage lurched into motion. Sophia sagged against Edward’s side, exhaustion written in every line of her body. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the steady beat of her heart against his ribs.
She was safe. She was alive. Nothing else mattered.
Hartley waited in the entrance hall.
The butler’s expression remained impassive as Edward escorted Sophia through the front door, but his eyes flickered over them both, cataloging the bloodied knuckles, the disheveled clothing, the evidence of violence and fear.
“Your Grace.” He bowed. “Is there anything you require?”
“Paper. Ink. Now.” Edward kept his voice low.
Hartley produced both from the hall table with the efficiency of a man accustomed to unusual requests at unusual hours. Edward scrawled a few lines, folded the paper, and pressed it into the butler’s hands.
He leaned close and whispered instructions with his voice pitched so low that even Sophia could not hear. Hartley’s brows rose a fraction, but he nodded without question.
“It will be done within the hour, Your Grace.”
“See that it is.” Edward straightened. “And not a word to anyone.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Hartley tucked the note into his pocket and disappeared toward the servants’ quarters.
Sophia looked at Edward with questions in her eyes. He shook his head.
“Later.” He took her hand. “You need rest.”
They climbed the stairs together. Sophia leaned heavily on the banister, her strength flagging now that the crisis had passed. Edward stayed close, ready to catch her if she stumbled.
They reached the landing and found Oliver waiting.
The boy sat on the top step in his nightshirt, his stuffed rabbit clutched to his chest, his face pinched with worry. Mrs. Palmer hovered behind him with an apologetic expression.
“I could not keep him in bed, Your Grace.” She wrung her hands. “He insisted on waiting.”
“Sophia!” Oliver launched himself off the step and barreled into her legs. “You came back! I could not find you, and I was scared, and Uncle Edward said he would bring you home, and he did!”
Sophia dropped to her knees and gathered him into her arms. “I am here, sweetheart. I am sorry I worried you.”
“Where did you go?” Oliver pulled back to examine her face with the intensity of a small prosecutor. “Why were you not in your room?”
Sophia smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “I had to visit a friend who was not feeling well. I did not mean to be gone so long.” She pressed a kiss to his brow. “But I am home now. Everything is all right.”
Oliver studied her for a moment, his small face solemn. Then he nodded, accepting the explanation with the trust of a child who had no reason to doubt.
“You look tired.” He patted her cheek. “You should sleep. Mrs. Palmer says sleep fixes everything.”
“Mrs. Palmer is very wise.” Sophia hugged him once more. “Will you go back to the nursery now? I promise I will come see you when I wake up.”
Oliver nodded. He allowed Mrs. Palmer to take his hand but looked back over his shoulder as they retreated down the corridor.
“Uncle Edward?” His small voice carried through the quiet hallway.
Edward stepped forward. “Yes?”
“You kept your promise.” Oliver’s face broke into a smile. “You brought her home.”
Edward’s throat tightened. “I did.”
Oliver waved, then disappeared around the corner with Mrs. Palmer. Edward watched them go, something cracking open in his chest.
A maid appeared at the end of the corridor, and Edward beckoned her forward.
“Draw a bath for the duchess.” He kept his voice low. “Warm, with the lavender salts she favors. And see that she is not disturbed for the rest of the morning. She needs to sleep.”
The maid curtsied and hurried away.
Edward turned to Sophia. She stood in the corridor, swaying with exhaustion, her eyes red-rimmed, and her dress stained with alley grime. She had never looked more beautiful to him.
“Go.” He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Get some rest. I will be here when you wake.”
She searched his face, and whatever she found there made her eyes glisten with unshed tears.
“We need to talk.” Her voice emerged hoarse.
“We will.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But not now. Now you need to sleep. Everything else can wait.”
She hesitated. Then she nodded, rose on her toes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For coming for me.”
Edward watched her walk down the corridor toward her chambers, watched until she disappeared through the door, watched until the maid followed with towels and the scent of lavender.
Then he sagged against the wall and pressed his hands to his face.
He had almost lost her. Had almost let his own fear and foolishness cost him everything that mattered.
Never again.