Page 55 of Unbound Duchess

“Who was Nigel?” Ellen asked. “He seemed to hold the most power there. Perhaps he would be better at giving me lessons.”

Benedict froze, then once more that sneer replaced his grin.

“Nigel,” he said. “Is nothing compared to me.”

“Really?” She asked, raising a curious brow. “It did not seem that way to me. In fact, it seemed you were taking orders from him.”

Benedict’s chuckle was low and purely wicked as he looked down at his shoes and sucked hard at his bottom lip.

“That is because you know nothing, you sweet, dimwitted girl,” he cut out. “Your father allowed you to take on too much. You have no idea what a man in power actually looks like.”

“And you do?” she asked, batting her lashes innocently. “Because from what I saw—and, do keep in mind that I am, as you say, a sweet, dimwitted girl—it was you who ultimately had to obey Nigel’s word, not the other way around. It was you who lost me that night.”

Benedict slowly lifted his head, revealing the rage and lust sparking in his dark eyes.

“I did not lose you,” he said, shaking his head. “I will never lose you, Ellie.”

He lifted his hand, moving toward her with a slowness that seemed more aggressive than the slap he’d once whipped across her face.

“Any time I want to have you back, I will,” he swore, his breaths coming out ragged and distorted as his hand drew close to her neck.

“You. Are. Mine.”

Fear flooded through her veins. It was so quick and consuming that Ellen held her breath and closed her eyes, her body tensing to painful rigidity as she waited for those cruel fingers to land on her throat.

Then she heard a grunt and a low snarl before a whoosh of air passed over her face.

She forced one eye open slowly, too curious not to see why he had not touched her yet. Then the other snapped open, and both grew wide as she saw Laurence standing directly behind Benedict, so closely that his broad chest was pressed into Benedict’s back. As he was taller than Benedict, he had to lean down so that his snarling lips could reach the other man’s ear.

“Remember what happened to you the last time you thought such a thing?” Laurence’s voice was nothing but a low, feral growl in Benedict’s ear.

Benedict struggled against him, but did not get very far. Ellen blinked, then looked down, and saw that Laurence’s hand was wrapped like a vice around Benedict’s wrist—the very same one that was attached to the fingers that he had been reaching toward her throat only seconds ago.

“You would cause a scene here?” Benedict gritted out, his narrowed eyes looking at Laurence’s threatening expression, but instead at the grip he had on him. “Put your pretty new wife’s reputation at stake when it is already so precarious?”

A blush stole into Ellen’s cheeks as she swept her gaze around the room. Below, on the dance floor, the other guests were far too distracted with themselves to notice. However, as she swept her gaze up to the balcony above, she caught a few furtive glances darting their way. Nothing lingering yet, but if things grew worse…

“Laurence,” she whispered, shifting her gaze back to his still feral expression.

He flinched. A small, almost unnoticeable thing.

“Laurence, my love,” she whispered again.

It was a lie. He was not her love. She was not his. Yet as she said it, Laurence’s bestial expression settled into something far more human, more calm, and as he gave a subtle shove away from his grip on Benedict’s wrist, he took two steps down until he was standing beside Ellen, and wrapped both arms possessively around her waist from behind.

He dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. His lips brushed against her flesh and sent a skittering of sparks throughout her, and even though others were now watching, she could not help but lean her back into his chiseled chest and take comfort in his embrace. A small huff of a chuckle left Laurence’s throat as Benedict glowered at them.

“The next time you raise a hand to my wife, Page, I will remove it,” Laurence stated, his deep voice now void of all emotion.

Again, Benedict’s eye began to twitch as he silently fumed, his lips pressed together firmly. They stood there a moment, waiting to see if he would say anything remotely resembling a threat. Instead, silence stretched between them as Benedict slowly reached for his bruised wrist. Ellen watched as he rubbed at it with his good hand and tried to take a step up and backward.

“Watch it, Page,” Solomon snarled into his ear as he came to step down beside Benedict, revealing himself.

He flinched and grew pale as Solomon came into view.

“You might have eyes on her,” Laurence mused blandly as he stared at Benedict, “but we have eyes on you.”

“More than you realize,” Solomon added with a cold smirk. “Watching. Waiting. Reporting on every move you make.”