“Leave?” Hope repeated, utterly confused. “Have you completely lost your mind, Jacob?”
“I love you, Hope. I always have and it was my own foolishness that separated us, but no more,” he said earnestly,pulling her towards the doorway. “All that matters now is that we can be together, with financial independence.”
Hope kept shaking her head. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry or scream as she sorted through a dozen emotions. She tried to tug her hand out of his grasp.
“You really must let me go.”
“But Hope—”
“Let go, Jacob.”
“Get your fucking hands off my wife,” a dark, threatening growl sounded from the doorway.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The searing pain in Graham’s side could not compare to the rage he felt at the sight of Hope’s fingers crushed in another man’s hand. Hope’s head snapped up, her mouth agape at the sight of him.
Everything that happened next was a whirlwind. In an instant, Graham had the man by the throat, pushing him back against the edge of the dining room table as a chair fell to its side on the floor. Jacob was gasping, scratching, and clawing at the large hand that threatened to strangle him. Graham bared his teeth, his heart pounding with determination.
“Graham! Stop!” he heard Hope yell, but he barely registered it, even as she came up around to his side and wrapped her hands around the arm that pinned the sputtering Englishman in his place. She seemed to pull with all her might, but the solid muscle of his arm would not budge. “You’ll kill him!”
“So?”
“For heaven’s sake,” Hope said, fighting against his strength. “Let him go.”
“No.”
Hope let out a horrified gasp, causing him to look at her. Hope’s mouth had tightened and her nose had crinkled. He felt exposed beneath her appalled expression.
“Graham, please,” she said softly, releasing his arm. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t kill him.”
The gentleness of her voice finally pierced through his rage. With a final squeeze, he flung the Englishman to the floor. The man gasped, rubbing his neck as he coughed.
“Assault!” he croaked after a full minute of gasping. “You should be in prison. You are a menace!”
“Get the hell out of my home or I’ll give them a real reason to send me to the gaols.”
At Graham’s threat, the Englishman’s eyes went wide and, after a fleeting gaze at Hope, he bolted out of the dining room. When the front door was slammed shut, Hope breathed a sigh of relief, but there was a hesitation to her as she came face to face with Graham.
He had scared her, he assumed. Well, too bloody bad. He wouldn’t stand for any man touching her and if she was going to try and lecture him about such things, she might as well be talking to a pile of stone.
“I’m not apologizing,” he said roughly as he stared at her. “I’ll not let you be accosted and I don’t give a damn what you say about it.” Hope’s brow drew together as she faltered a bit beneath his furious glare. She watched him with a strange curiosity, as if she were trying to read parts of his soul.
“Graham—”
“What the bloody hell was he doing here?” he bellowed, seemingly unable to control his temper.
Hope opened her mouth to speak before closing it, her eyes locked on his face. Why wasn’t she talking? Why wasn’t she trying to defend herself? Graham knew that Hope would never lie to him, yet the longer he stared at her, the more he felt exposed.
“What?” he bit out.
That seemed to snap Hope out of her puzzling silence. She shook her head before explaining.
“He read about our engagement in the paper and couldn’t believe that I would marry so quickly. But,” she said, her voice dropping. “It sounded as though he were really only interested in the inheritance part of the article.”
“Sniveling little creatin. I should—”
“Graham, did you plan to marry me only to gain ownership of Lismore?”
