Catherine’s eyelids dragged open at her aunt’s hiss. The room tilted, then steadied. Aunt Nora loomed over her, lips drawn back in a snarl. Behind her, Uncle Benjamin’s face had gone purple, his breath expelling in sharp bursts.
“I cannot believe what you’ve done—to bring a Duke to our door, to-to impose yourself upon him! How dare you!”
Catherine’s hands fisted in her skirts. Her throat burned. “I had no choice but to dare!”
The words ripped out of her before she could stop them. What did it matter now? They’d punish her regardless—silence bought nothing.
“I had to escape you somehow. I’m withering away in this house! If God is merciful, he’ll take me before you can shackle me to that beast!”
Her aunt’s laughter came sharp and bright as breaking glass. She reached down, patting Catherine’s wrist with feather-light taps that made her skin crawl. “Your medicine will set you to rights soon enough, my girl.”
“And it is not your place to question our judgment or malign the character of a gentleman who represents an exceptional match,” Uncle Benjamin stepped forward, jabbing a finger toward her face. “This is rank ingratitude, nothing more. I shan’t tolerate it! This is what comes of permissive, weak-willed parents who spoiled you rotten.”
He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the rum on his breath. “Frankly, we’d have been spared considerable trouble if you’d died alongside them.”
The words hit like a slap. Catherine surged to her feet, fury at the insult to her parents temporarily burning through the fog in her mind—but she was too dizzy, her legs too weak. Immediately, she stumbled, her hand catching the table’s edge and sending a vase toppling.
Porcelain shattered across the floor.
Aunt Nora gasped. Uncle Benjamin advanced, his face contorted with rage. “You ungrateful wretch!” He raised a large, meaty hand, teeth bared and spittle flying from his mouth.
“Strike her, and you’ll answer for it tenfold.”
The command rang out like a gunshot.
There—in the doorway—stood Aaron.
But not the polished duke who had left an hour ago. Gone was the charm and simple etiquette. This man looked ready to commit violence, his tall frame rigid, hands flexing at his sides, eyes burning with barely restrained fury.
Was that… was that truly Aaron?
Uncle Benjamin froze mid-strike, his jaw falling slack. Aunt Nora let out a strangled cry. Catherine looked at the tall, powerful figure that seemed to fill the doorway. He was glaring at Uncle Benjamin with eyes that seemed wild.
“Your… Your Grace… I thought… we thought you had left,” Aunt Nora stammered with a faltering smile.
Sharp eyes flicked to the scrawny lady. “I thought better of it. I will be leaving in just a moment, and your niece will be leaving with me. She is evidently not welcome here.”
He crossed the room in three purposeful strides and gathered Catherine against his chest. Her body went limp in his arms—she had nothing left to fight with.
“Pardon? You cannot abduct my charge, Winchester!” Benjamin’s face purpled deeper. “I will have the Runners onto you within the hour!”
“Attempt to do so, and I will see you at a place of your choosing. At dawn.”
The color drained from the rotund man’s face.
“We will—we will ruin you!” Nora shrilled, lurching forward in his stead. “The scandal will destroy you! They’ll call you the Kidnapper Duke from here to Scotland!”
“Now, now, dear…” Benjamin ushered over to his wife, his earlier bluster evaporating, “No need to be so rash. Surely we can discuss this like reasonable people. Let me settle Catherine in her room, and we’ll resolve everything over a civilized glass of wine—”
Aaron was already heading for the door. Uncle Benjamin had to shout after him.
“I fail to see the problem. I’m removing an unwanted burden from your household,” the duke said flatly.
Aunt Nora flew across the room, planting herself between them and the door, arms spread wide.
“The scandal!” Benjamin’s voice climbed an octave. “You’ll ruin us all!”
“Then I’ll marry her.” Aaron adjusted Catherine’s weight in his arms, his grip tightening protectively. “No scandal. No gossip. No runners. Now move, madam, lest you wish to be the second in your husband’s duel!”
