TWENTY-FOUR #2
Cecily stepped into the room, expression calm and polite. She had changed out of her riding habit into one of her serviceable gowns, hair pulled back into a neat chignon.
“Your Grace. Lord Matthias.” She curtsied.
“Cecily.” Drempton’s smile turned rapacious. “At last.”
She recoiled, her entire body flinching as if she had just received a sharp blow to the stomach. She collapsed to the floor in a puddle of skirts. Her terror-stricken face would likely haunt Matt to the grave.
Drempton took a step toward her, but Matt was already moving. He crossed the room in quick strides, placing his body between Cecily and her enemy. Her arms wrapped around her elbows, gaze unfocused, hands and lips trembling. The sight nearly unmanned him.
Crouching beside her, he placed a hand under her arm.
“I’ll see him gone. I promise,” he whispered.
She stared straight again, lips bloodless, breath coming in terrified gasps.
Gently, Matt coaxed her to her feet and settled her into an armchair before the window. Her gaze remained unfocused, a dreadful tremor wracking her body.
Fury swelled Matt’s chest. He couldn’t recall a time when he had thoroughly lost his temper, but seeing his bright, courageous Cecily reduced to a brittle, trembling leaf of a woman . . .
Something tumbled within him—a wall of reticence or worry or what have you that typically restrained his behavior.
Now, all he could see was the woman he loved and the bastard who threatened her—a man who had harmed her and intended her harm again.
The embodiment of the wounds Matt had repeatedly witnessed as she fought to heal.
Gray, of course, misunderstood Matt’s reaction. “Never fear, Matt. Lord Drempton means her no harm.”
Matt looked back at the gentlemen, careful to keep his body between his love and danger.
“Of course,” Drempton said. His covetous gaze dropped to Cecily behind Matt. “I merely wish to see dear Cecily reunited with the bosom of our family.”
“That will not happen.” Matt straightened his shoulders.
His entire life, he had observed both his father and his brother as duke. He knew how a haughty lord spoke and behaved. In this moment, he parroted their every movement and intonation. As the son of a duke—even a second son—he outranked Drempton by miles.
It was high time someone reminded the lowly baron of this.
“I would not hand a dog over to you, Drempton, much less a person.” Matt looked down his nose at the man.
For once, his great looming height proved a boon.
“Given the lady’s reaction, I don’t believe she wishes to go with you.
Hers is not the behavior of someone overjoyed at your presence.
I will not permit you to remove her unwillingly from my home. She is none of your affair.”
“Matt—” Gray began in exasperation.
“Stay out of this, Piers,” Matt snapped, using Gray’s Christian name. A sign of his privilege and their close relationship as brothers. “This is my home. I decide what happens here.”
Gray lifted an eyebrow in surprise and folded his arms, but said nothing more.
Good.
As Matt had supposed, Gray would side with family over a loose acquaintance like Drempton.
“My lord.” Drempton extended a hand toward Matt, using that same patronizing tone, enunciating his words as if Matt were a simpleton.
“I admire your dedication to your staff. It behooves every gentleman to treat those under their care with kindness. But I assure you, Mrs. Miller will be afforded every—”
“She is not an animal for purchase!” Matt snapped. “She is not a parcel to be passed around to whoever desires her next. She is a lady who commands her own destiny! She does not wish to go with you. Your presence clearly distresses her. There is no more discussion to be had.”
“I fear you are perhaps rather addled in the head, my lord.” Drempton’s brow furrowed. “Mrs. Armstrong is a mere housekeeper now. She abandoned her station as a lady, and as such, she is not worth—”
“Get out!” Matt pointed toward the door. “You are no longer welcome in my home. Leave.”
His lordship rolled his eyes and turned to Gray. “Your Grace, clearly you can see that—”
“Grayburn does not rule under this roof. I am lord here!” Matt channeled every iota of Gray’s persona—thundering rage, clipped tones, haughty sneer.
“How dare you speak to me in such a condescending manner.” Now he had Drempton’s full attention.
“I am your better. And you will address me with respect, or you will stay silent. I will ask you one last time to vacate my home, or action will be taken.”
Drempton huffed a laugh.
“Action will be taken,” he mimicked. “What will you do? Batter me with your lame arm?”
And there it was—the end of Matt’s tether.
Even Gray loosed a soft hiss.
Two steps and Matt had Drempton by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Drempton flailed, attempting to strike Matt and wriggle out of his hold. Matt simply extended his arm. Never had he been more grateful for the honed strength of his own body.
Pivoting, he half-carried, half-pulled the man down the staircase, across the entrance hall, and out the front door that Rawkin kindly opened.
With a generous heave, Matt tossed Drempton onto the gravel drive. His lordship sprawled on the wet ground, face red with rage. Choking, he rolled to his feet.
“You ugly cur!” he spat. “No wonder no one has ever seen your face in London. You are the stain of the devil on your family!”
Drempton continued to rage. Matt paid him no mind. The man wasn’t saying anything novel.
Rawkin shoved Drempton’s coat, hat, and gloves into Matt’s hand. Without a word, Matt tossed the items out into an obliging puddle and slammed the door home.
“Please rally the footmen and alert the grooms, Rawkin.” Matt shook his sleeve down. “I want that man off my property immediately.”
“With pleasure, my lord.” The gleam in the butler’s eye said he would relish the prospect. “Anything to protect our Mrs. Armstrong.”
Matt returned to the great hall to find Cecily gone.
Gray stood in the middle of the room, arms still folded across his chest.
“Mrs. Armstrong fled,” he reported.
Matt instantly pivoted for the stairs. He had to find Cecily and ensure she was well. He wouldn’t breathe until Drempton was far away from Avoch. Could he track down the sheriff tonight? Waiting until tomorrow might be a mistake. Matt couldn’t bear it if—
“Matt.” Gray’s voice stopped him.
On a sigh, Matt turned back to his brother. “Yes?”
“I’m not sure if I should scold you for making an enemy of Drempton, or clap you on the shoulder in congratulations for growing a spine.”
A beat.
“Well . . . I shall leave you to dither upon your choice while I ascertain Mrs. Armstrong’s health.”
He managed two steps before Gray stopped him again.
“Don’t walk away from me, Matt.”
Gray used his ducal voice. It was rather uncanny how similar they both sounded when they employed that tone.
Turning around, Matt faced his brother. He shoved his hand into his coat pocket so Gray wouldn’t see that it still trembled.
“We need to discuss this,” Gray continued. “Drempton will smear the family name because you decided to defend your housekeeper of all people and—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Gray.” Matt pulled himself to his full height, never more glad for the extra inch he had on his older brother. “Cecily Armstrong accepted my proposal of marriage earlier today.”
Matt had the pleasure of witnessing Gray’s jaw drop in astonishment.
Silence.
“You cannot be serious.” Gray shook his head.
“As the grave.”
Gray pinched the bridge of his nose. “Matt—”
“We will pledge our handfasting before the sheriff as soon as I can arrange it. You are welcome to witness the occasion. However, I strongly suggest you carefully consider any words you may wish to say about my betrothed.”
On a grunt, Gray loosened his neckcloth and shrugged out of his coat. Shedding clothing was always a clear sign of his agitation. He tossed the lot over the back of the sofa.
“You cannot marry her,” he snapped.
“I can, and I will.”
“I won’t permit it.”
“I don’t care. You have no say in this, and well you know it.”
Matt’s heart hammered in his chest, but he was determined. He would give Cecily all the time she needed to adjust to their marriage. However, he couldn’t leave her without the protection of his name for even one more day.
Gray stared at him, baffled. “Who are you, and what have you done with my shy, reticent brother?”
Matt gave a soft snort. “I’m a man who fell in love, Gray, and found something worth defending.” He turned for the door. “I will marry Cecily Armstrong. You can choose to help us or hinder us, but even you don’t have the power to forbid it.”
He thumped his fist against the door lintel and walked out.