He had been away … and found time to betray his vows.
Chapter Two
“That is enough, Giles!” Richard, Duke of Hawksford, bellowed, shocked at the scene before him.
He stood in the cobbled yard, every eye turning to him even as thick-set Mr. Giles lashed at a cowering stable boy. The duke’s stature, more than his title, commanded obedience. His attire might have suited a foreman rather than a man of rank and fortune, yet it did nothing to diminish the quiet authority he radiated. Every inch of him spoke of control, of power restrained, but unmistakable.
“Well, look who it is,” Giles sneered. Known for bullying servants, he showed no sign of yielding, even to the duke. “So, the duke has decided to leave his ledger books and deal with some dirty business. Leave the cleaning up to us, Your Grace.”
Richard’s blue eyes met the man’s, steady and cold. He knew disrespect when he saw it.
“Lower your hand, step away from the boy, and learn to address me with the respect due your landlord,” he said, calm and measured.
“Landlord?” Giles echoed, his face twisting in distaste. “Landlord by name? Your father, too busy with his feud against the Penwikes, could not be bothered with tenants who made his duels possible!”
Richard clenched his jaw. He had heard this before. Some tenants could twist any grievance into a justification for abuse against those they deemed beneath them.
“And your brother?” Giles pressed on. “Middle child, no survival skills even for seconding in a duel!”
Richard flinched at the mention of Edgar. The audacity. His brother is dead and insulted by a man like this.
“And you, Your Grace,” Giles continued, spitting the title like an insult, “you hide your wife in London like a precious trophy, as if she is too good for the likes of us. An excuse for one day escaping, after you’ve already taken what you could from the land.”
Even amid the barrage, Richard remained composed. Giles’ eyes darted nervously. His throat bobbed; the posturing of confidence wavered. Two deliberate steps forward from Richard and Giles instinctively took one back, trying to disguise their retreat.
“Is that what you enjoy? Insulting my family? Raising your hand to a child?” Richard’s voice cut through the murmurs of the onlookers. “No one should be treated as this boy has been. He earns his bread honestly, and he will not be abused under my roof.”
His gaze swept the crowd, and every eye turned to him. Then he fixed Giles with a look that left no room for argument.
“I do not speak often of what I have done for Hawksford, but the work is evident in every stone, every ledger, every field you tread upon. My accounts have always been transparent, my decisions deliberate. And now, as a fair and just master, I am ensuring that cruelty and insolence meet no welcome here.”
“A gentleman duke with the hands of a farmer,” Giles muttered. “Still … you don’t know what respect is. You think you can have everything just because you have money?”
“It’s never been about the money,” Richard said, his voice cold and unwavering. “It’s about ridding this estate of cruelty. That is what I will not tolerate.”
Giles bristled, his face red. “A man from a family full of hate does not lecture me! Feuds, Your Grace, they’ll be the death of your house!”
Richard’s jaw tightened. He fought the childish urge to roll his eyes, keeping his expression perfectly blank.
“You smug bastard!” Giles yelled, lunging at him with a wild swing aimed at his jaw.
Richard didn’t flinch. He sidestepped with the precision of a man trained for duels and long-standing family feuds. He had learned long ago how to defend himself and how to stay in control.
Giles swung again. Richard moved, closing the distance, and with a single, fluid motion, twisted the man’s wrist, forcing his bulky frame to the ground. His knee pressed firmly into Giles’ chest, pinning him without effort.
“Despite all you may have seen of my family,” Richard said, his voice low, steady, and lethal, “I do not tolerate violence; I avoid it whenever possible. But threats to my people or me willnotstand. Consider your lease terminated. You are evicted. Do not show your face in Hawksford again.”
Only then did he release Giles. The tenant scrambled back, scrambled to his feet, and fled the yard, terror plain on his face.
Richard did not smile. Satisfaction was not in striking a man down—it was in demonstrating that cruelty, insolence, and weakness had no place here. His gaze returned to the trembling stable boy.
“Come, lad,” he said gently, extending his large hand. “He’s gone.”
The boy, no older than eleven or twelve, remained hunched, his small frame trembling from fear, likely not just from this encounter, but a lifetime of others like it.
“It’s all right,” Richard said softly, but firmly. “No one will treat you that way again. That, I promise. Cruelty in Hawksford will be punished.”
The boy straightened slightly. His thin face made his wide eyes look even larger, filled with awe and hope.
