Page 2 of The Duke of My Desire

“Out.”

“But, Gregory⁠—”

He stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind him, cutting her off in an unusual display of rebellion. He had no doubt he would pay for it later, but he didn’t much care at the moment.

He simply wanted out. Out of the conversation, and out of this house.

Having no destination in mind, he told his driver, John, just to drive and as the carriage wheels began to roll, he finally expelled the sigh he’d been holding in by a thread.

“God’s bones,” he muttered, rubbing at the ache in his temples.

He loved his mother. Truly, he did. She was a strong woman, in both will and opinion, but she was decent, too, and though she did not like to show it, she had a kind heart. She loved him and only wanted him to be happy.

He knew that, and yet, he couldn’t help but resent her sometimes. She was unrelenting and single-minded in her efforts to see him wed, and he might have suspected she was afraid of dying before he took a wife if he wasn’t already convinced she would live forever.

Another heavy sigh escaped him as he turned to peer out at the passing row of terrace houses, their darkened windows overlooking an empty street, scattered with dry, rambling leaves and softly lit by intermittent street lamps.

The sight struck him as lonely, but perhaps that was merely his current mood. He was rather alone in the world, except for his mother, and they were at odds more often than not.

He wished he could make her understand what he was feeling, that this was his life and he should be the one in charge of it, at least occasionally, but he had no idea how to do so without hurting her feelings in the process.

“Mothers,” he grumbled, and he was just about to let his head fall back against the seat when a flash of movement outside caught his eye. He frowned as he watched a woman exit through a terrace house door and hurry down the stairs to the pavement below. She seemed to be running away from something, or someone.

A moment later, a man exited from the same door and vaulted down the steps after her, blocking her path and taking her roughly by the arms.

Gregory thumped his knuckles on the carriage roof, signaling for his driver to pull over. The wheels had barely slowed to a complete stop when he pushed the door open and jumped out onto the pavement.

“Good evening, madam,” he called out to the lady as he approached. “May I be of assistance to you?”

Her eyes met his, frightened but angry too, as she fought to free herself from the man’s grip. She was younger than he’d expected—no older than himself—and she wore a green silk gown under a black velvet cloak, her light brown hair loose around her shoulders.

“No, you may not,” the man said to Gregory, cutting off the lady’s reply. “This does not concern you. Do return to your carriage and be on your way.”

Gregory didn’t know the man, but he was clearly a person of means, dressed in a gentleman’s finery, though there was nothing gentlemanly about his behavior or the hard look in his eyes.

“I will first ask that you unhand the lady,” Gregory said calmly, though his hands itched to grab hold of the brute, his anger growing with every passing second he refused to let her go.

“’Lady’?” The man gave a scoffing laugh. “This is no lady, I assure you. She is no better than a common whore, but alas, she is mine, and I will put my hands on her any place I like.”

“Nigel, please,” the woman said. “Let me go. You are being unreasonable.” Her tone was calm, but he detected a thread of exasperation, too. Exasperation and fear.

“Unhand her,” he commanded, working to keep his voice even, though inside he was furious. “Now, sir.”

The man—Nigel, apparently—passed a derisive look over Gregory and smirked. “Or what, sir?”

Gregory tipped his head toward the waiting carriage behind him. “Or I shall have my driver do it for you.”

Right on cue, John jumped down from the carriage onto the street, crossed his massive arms over his chest, and gave the man a cold glare.

“John,” Gregory called out mildly, “if the gentleman does not release the lady in three seconds’ time, please take care of the matter.” He levelled an icy stare on the man. “By any means necessary.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Gregory wasn’t sure if it was the reference to his title or the threat of violence, but either way, it worked. The man let her go with a sound of disgust, his face contorted with anger.

“This is not over,” he growled with ominous promise before stalking up the stairs and slamming the door behind him.

A long beat of silence filled the now emptier street, and Gregory could hear the pounding of his heart as his pulse began to slow.