Page 68 of An Offer By the Beastly Duke

“They will be impressed by a formal marriage settlement prepared by my personal solicitor by morning.”

Charles took a menacing step forward. “You cannot marry her.”

Malcolm moved only his head, slowly looking Charles over from his loosened cravat down to his trembling hands. “Can I not?”

“She is⁠—”

“Choose your next word with extreme care.”

Charles stopped dead. His nostrils flared like a winded horse.

Malcolm continued, his voice dropping into a smooth, terrifying purr.

“A court will hear that the Duke of Brigrock intends to marry the Dowager Countess of Romwich and provide a stable, protected household for her son. It will hear that Nicholas is welcome under my roof. It will hear that his mother has the immediate support of a duchess’s household, a duke’s fortune, and a duke’s name.”

Charles’s mouth tightened into a thin, white line.

“And then,” Malcolm said, stepping closer until his shadow swallowed the man completely, “the court will hear from you. The second son of an earl, clinging to temporary authority over an estate that will one day belong to the very boy you wish to send away.”

Charles’s eyes flickered violently. Malcolm saw it. Fear. Small, sharp, and deeply rooted. So, he pressed the blade home.

“It will hear that you threatened to remove Nicholas from his mother unless she submitted to your …base demands.”

Charles went entirely pale beneath his flushed skin. “You cannot prove that. It’s your word against mine.”

Malcolm leaned nearer, his voice a whisper of pure malice. “If necessary, I will put Lord Hayward, Lord Giltbury, and every single soul in this house on a witness stand between you and that child. I will hire barristers who will skin your reputation clean from your bones in open court. I will have every financial account you have ever touched examined. Every debt. Every creditor. Every hidden mistress. Every back-alley gambling marker.”

Charles’s lips parted. A cold sweat broke out along his forehead.

Ah. There it was.

Malcolm smiled faintly, a terrifying, humorless twitch of his lips. “You have debts.”

Charles said nothing.

“You have creditors who prefer not to wait for a seven-year-old boy to become of age.”

Still, silence.

Malcolm’s voice dropped. “Do not make me interested in your life.”

Penelope drew in a sharp, ragged breath behind him.

Charles tried to force a laugh, but it caught in his throat, turning into a weak cough. “You think yourself untouchable because of your bloody title!”

“No,” Malcolm said softly. “I know exactly what I can touch.”

He took one more deliberate step. Charles backed up until his spine hit the edge of the mahogany table.

“Stay away from Penelope.”

Charles swallowed hard, his throat clicking.

“Stay away from Nicholas.”

“You have no right!”

Malcolm reached out, seized Charles by the front of his silk waistcoat, and hauled him forward until they were nose to nose.