Page 41 of The Rogue and the Viscountess

“Oh, I’ll give you what you’re owed.”

Another mighty crash. The door cracked further. Prunella’s heart surged as well. He was quite magnificent, such mighty strength, such disciplined fury, and all for her.

“You’ll have it down in a minute, won’t you.” That gleeful cackle must be Morys.

Prunella didn’t look at anyone but Pete. He turned toward the window as if he felt her stare, and their gazes locked.

Heat flooded her. She was a melted pat of butter. Everything in her wanted to rush into his arms, beg him to hold her always.

“And it’s Baronet Wilkins, don’t you know,” Pete shouted, turning his attention back to the door. “Sir Peter. I’m higher than your rotter of a father ever was. Too bad you won’t live to inherit anything, because I’m going to kill you.”

This enraged Calvin, who surged toward the door. “You’re the one should be in chains! Craven criminal. A rowdy good for nothing but using his fists. Should be put down like the mad dog you—”

His words disappeared beneath another enormous crack that caved in the door, and then the wooden barrier disappeared, as if Pete had simply plucked it from its hinges and flung it away. Prunella couldn’t imagine how he had accomplished it, but all she cared was that he was here.

His gaze found her first, and she pressed a hand to her heart to try to still the palpitations. The blood in her veins sang with joy. Pete.

“Nell,” he growled, and she melted some more.

“Ruffian! I’ll—”

The rest of Calvin’s words choked off as Pete’s fist closed around his throat. He scrabbled at Pete’s wrist, wriggling like a stuck cat, watery blue eyes bulging.

“Want to apologize to the lady before I throttle you?” Pete lifted the other man so his boots parted from the floor, and Calvin kicked and struggled, eyes bulging further.

“Pete, he didn’t hurt me. Let the watch have him. Where is Jenny?”

“Right here, mum, and ye’d best let me have those pins back, so’s I might fix your jacket.”

Prunella’s knees weakened with further relief as Jenny hurried across the threshold toward her, clucking and scolding as she straightened Prunella’s attire. Morys strolled in after, surveying the room with a long whistle, then studying Calvin Vaughn’s writhing form.

“Don’t s’pose we can just toss him in your lake,” Morys remarked.

“I’d like to, but his foul body would just pop up, and I’d have to explain it,” Pete said.

“If he’s been about some Hounding, I’d wager the Newport magistrate’ll want to see ‘im,” Morys said. “Sir Robert gave us our pardons afore. Think he’ll dole out a reward this time?”

“You’ve earned it,” Pete said. “You’re the one warned us he was coming.”

“He says Edwin owes him money,” Prunella said. “I don’t have money.”

She was bleating like a foolish nanny goat. She was simply so overwhelmed with joy that Pete was here. Here. The sight of him rearranged her insides. He was like those maps of the world built in a circle, arranged around one point. Everything in her life pointed toward him.

She needed air. Jenny had pinned her jacket too tightly. Also, she still needed the necessary. “I-I shall step outside while you mop up,” she said.

Pete’s gaze flicked over the bloodspots on the floor, then arrowed to her. He held Vaughn by the neck like a mewling cat, with apparently no effort. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“It’s his blood. He struck the door.”

His gaze fixed on the ruffle at her collar. Prunella twisted her chin and saw the same. Blast and damn—he’d smeared his blood when he’d forced that kiss on her.

“I stopped him,” she said. “With pins.”

Pete’s expression flickered, anguish and worry giving way to rage. He shook Calvin like a terrier holding a rat. “Don’t go far.”

“Just a step away,” Prunella squeaked.

Calvin managed to pry off one of Pete’s fingers. “I’ll have you hanged,” he gasped. “I’ll have you drawn and—”