She fought to conceal the fear and felt gratified when her voice emerged steady. “You are mistaken. This is no farce. And this baby is the duke’s—”
“Shut up, you cunt!” He leaped. Too quickly for her to get out of harm.
His hand struck out and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her head back while his other hand twisted her arm behind her. She yelped in helplessness and considered screaming before he hissed in her ear.
“Go ahead and scream. I’ll toss your skirts up and take you before anybody shows up. When they arrive, I’ll tell them you and I are lovers. And that I’m the father of your child. Either way, the title will be mine.”
Hannah forgot her fear as a wave of rage thundered through her. She kicked back, struggled with all her might. She would not allow him to make good on his threat. He twisted her arm further. A sharp pain stabbed at her shoulder, forcing her to relent and bite back a whimper.
“That plan would never work,” she informed him through clenched teeth. “I’ll tell everyone the truth. That you raped me. That you are not the father of my child. I’ll have you thrown in jail!”
His laugh was evil, contemptuous. “And who do you think they will believe? Me, a respectable gentleman, or the whore who is conveniently pregnant now that her decrepit husband is about to kick the bucket?”
“Me, thewifewho has been faithful and loyal to her husband for fifteen years of a happy marriage, who has never given cause for gossip.”
He gave her hair another pull to hiss in her ear. “You presumptuous bitch. Always putting on airs. I look forward to bringing you down from your pedestal–”
“Unhand the duchess.”
The order, uttered in a voice so commanding it did not need to shout to be obeyed, washed over Hannah in a wave of relief so profound that she almost sobbed with it.
Gabriel.
He had come, after all. All would be well now.
CHAPTER 37
GABRIEL HAD BEEN WATCHINGthe sunrise through his bedroom window. Remembering another morning that now seemed so long ago, when he had spotted her riding out. He didn’t expect to see her ride out today. Not in her condition. Yet he couldn’t help but to hope for a glimpse of her.
And then she was there, walking through the gardens. He knew her destination. And nothing could have kept him from following. He needed to be near her. To bask in her presence. To observe the changes the pregnancy had wrought in her body.
But if he had not been watching, if he had taken one fucking minute longer to arrive, she could have come to harm. Their baby could have come to harm. The mere thought was unbearable. This despicable brute had dared to put his hands on Hannah. Now the rage coursing through Gabriel’s body clamored for blood. His first instinct when he came upon the scene had been to charge Blackwell, to wrench Hannah from his grasp, to punch his face in for causing her any distress. Only the risk of hurting her in the melee held him back.
Blackwell turned to him, and his face twisted with rage. “You! You are her lover, aren’t you? Have I interrupted your assignation?” he taunted. “Everyone knows your earldom is ruined. Do you think you and your whore will get your hands on my dukedom? Steal what’s mine? I will tell everyone. Create the biggest scandal—”
“The scandal will be if you harm the duchess, a woman enceinte. Now that I’m here, I will never let you harm her, butif you don’t release her this instant, I will bring the law against you for assaulting her. It won’t even be hard to convince them of your evil intentions. As the heir presumptive you have the most to lose. I’ll see you thrown in jail.”
Realizing the truth in Gabriel’s words, Blackwell grimaced and shoved Hannah, who stumbled a couple of steps before Gabriel caught her, steadied her. Studied her face for any sign of harm.
“I’m well,” she murmured in response to his unspoken question.
“You won’t get your way,” Blackwell screeched, spittle flying from his mouth, eyes crazed. “I will file a lawsuit–”
Gabriel couldn’t hold back anymore. With Hannah out of harm’s way, he fisted Blackwell’s shirt and slammed him against a tree. “You will not slander the duke and duchess anymore, much less while enjoying their hospitality.”
“Hospitality, my arse,” Blackwell snapped. “My uncle and this bitch—”
Gabriel’s fist interrupted his offensive sentence with an uppercut to the chin. Blackwell went down, but to his credit, he regrouped and came back to charge at Gabriel.
Oh, how he relished the chance for a fight. The blood pumping through his body demanded it. His senses heightened, muscles coiled like a spring, looking forward to using this swine as his punching bag. With a sneer plastered on his face, Blackwell lunged forward, fists swinging.
Gabriel sidestepped the attack with the fluid grace of his Kalarippayattu training, his body flowing like water. As the brute stumbled past him, Gabriel snapped a quick jab to the man’s jaw, feeling the satisfying connection of knuckles against bone.
Recovering, Blackwell threw a wild hook. But Gabriel had been expecting it. He ducked under it, pivoting on his heel andbringing his elbow up in a precise arc. The strike landed on the side of Blackwell’s head, disorienting him.
Not giving the man a moment to recover, Gabriel unleashed a rapid combination of punches—a left hook to the ribs, a right cross to the cheek, and an uppercut that snapped Blackwell’s head back. Gabriel delivered each punch with surgical precision, honed from his years in the army and fighting in the streets of Calcutta.
Blackwell staggered, eyes glazing over, but Gabriel wasn’t done. He stepped in closer, using his opponent’s momentum against him. With a fluid motion, he grabbed the man’s arm, twisting it into a lock.
