Chapter Ten #2
“Perhaps, but I know I’m right about this.
” He took a stand, lightly on the balls of his feet with his fists raised.
“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her, unlike you who’ve used, abused, neglected, and ignored her.
How the hell you can willingly inflict pain and suffering on any woman, I’ll never understand. ”
“She is mine. Stay away from her or I will kill you.”
“Ah, so then you’ll add murder to the long list of faults you already possess.”
With a cry of rage, the duke took a step toward him.
However, his foot slipped in the mud at the edge of the pond.
He lost his balance, stumbled. His arms windmilled as he teetered in an effort to right himself, but ultimately, he fell, and when he did, he struck the side of his head on the boulder.
With a cry of a different sort, he surged to his feet, blinking, but still enraged as blood streamed from the cut on his head.
“Tittleford? Everything well?” Mild concern with through Caleb’s chest.
“I’m… Going to pass out…” As if time had suddenly gone slow, the duke fell into the pond, bleeding, and was still unsteady on his feet as he thrashed about in the attempt to find purchase in the mud and the muck.
“Dear heavens, what a horrible turn of events,” Caleb said in a conversational turn, as if he’d just witnessed a footman drop a tea tray.
Then time accelerated into the correct passage.
Feeling like he watched the scene from a distance, he calmly observed the duke while his pulse pounded in his ears.
Was this the day that fate would finally intervene and right the wrongs that kept happening?
Was this the day where he would help the duke off this mortal coil, or was it possible that he wouldn’t need to do… anything?
God, what sort of man am I to even consider this?
“Damn it, Marsden, give me a hand.” The duke coughed. “Assist me out.”
The anger in Caleb’s chest hadn’t faded. There was twenty years of angst there, and it wouldn’t fade soon. He moved to the edge of the pond and peered down at the older man. “Why should I? You have treated so many people so poorly. Why should I grant you help?”
“Because I’m a duke.”
He snorted. “As if I care a jot for that, and holding a title doesn’t necessarily make a man a good person.”
Tittleford continued to slip on the mud. Each time he grasped at the reeds at the edge, they uprooted from the muck in his hand, providing little purchase. “You aren’t good enough for my wife. Hell, you don’t even have a title.”
“Having a title doesn’t make a man good or better than another.
That is another reason why I am best for her.
” It was rather interesting to watch the duke flail, much like a fly that’s been stuck in honey.
Did he have compassion to pull the man out?
Perhaps, but did a person who had such a black heart as this one truly deserve a second chance?
It was a conundrum.
“I demand that you fish me out.” The duke snarled and snapped, but his eyes were clouded with pain, and he looked at Caleb with confusion.
“Then you should have been a kinder person over the years, don’t you think?
” He cast about the immediate area then took up his fishing rod.
“You are a vile man, Your Grace. And right now, I’m only speaking on behalf of your wife.
Out of everyone on this earth, she has not deserved such ill treatment from you.
” Slowly, he approached the side of the pond.
Then he extended the wooden rod, but not so that the duke could grasp it.
Instead, he poked Tittleford in the chest with the end and pushed with all his strength until the older man went further into the water.
Blood continued to stream down the side of his head from striking the boulder.
Would he bleed out or drown first?
“Marsden!” He sputtered and coughed as his head bobbed beneath the water a few times as he flailed.
“You had a veritable angel in your life, and you broke her, battered her, nearly killed her. How can you sleep at night?”
“Who the devil cares? That’s a woman’s lot in life, in our world. You know this.” The duke tried to find his footing, but either his age, his disorientation from the head wound, the mud, or his lack of knowledge regarding swimming worked against him. “I’m… drowning…”
Caleb glanced about the immediate area, and seeing no one, he shrugged.
“Oh, no, someone help. The duke is drowning,” he said in a low voice instead of shouting for assistance.
“Sadly, no one is coming to rescue you this time, Your Grace. Perhaps it’s penance for how you’ve already lived your life. ”
“Damn it…” Tittleford continued to flail. “Help… me…” It was obvious his strength was fading.
Am I as horrible as he if I do nothing? Or am I righting a wrong in the grand scheme?
There were no answers. Then Caleb waded into the water that came to his waist. Again, he planted the end of his fishing rod into the duke’s chest, gave him a mighty heave. He yanked it away when the other man tried to grab at it.
The duke spit out pond water. There was nothing but hatred in his eyes. “You would murder me?” Sputtering followed the whispered inquiry.
“Oh, I’m not murdering you. The boulder and the water are doing that.”
Tittleford clawed at the water. “Do you think Angelica will receive anything from me if I die? You drew up the papers; you know I’ve left her naught but a farthing.”