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Dahl waved a hand as if some discovery had been made. “Had I not intercepted the letter, I would have never known. Inside it was something treacherous. Proof that some welp has been fathered. If my intended discovered this, her father would never agree to our marriage,” he groused, his lips held tight and spittle escaping with every word. “Rowan had told Da about everything, and you know how honorable he is. He would insist on telling my future father-in-law. You’re the same way! I couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t tell them. I only came to speak to your man in person, see if he’d told you yet. When he would not see reason, what choice did I have?” Dahl waved his hands, his eyes wild and darting around the room. “I had to stop him. Then I could not risk him having shared the matter with you. Your landlord was forthcoming about Rowan’s movements, save his ignorance to who I truly was. Another blessing. He even wrote down the addresses for me. It would seem even God Himself wants me to take my rightful place as the duke. So, you see, Brother, I ultimately have no choice in this.”

“Dahl, I was not aware of what occurred, nor would I have any interest in ruining your match. I only want to help you. What is it that you want from me? I’ll give it to you. All you need to do is tell me.” Abram looked back at the bed and Orris trembling. He’d never seen her so scared. He took a step toward her, but Dahl reached inside his jacket, then brought the hand out. The knife he’d extracted was wide and hefty, the long blade gleaming in the muted sun from the window.

“Tut tut, Brother. I would not do that. Unless you want her to be cut right down this elegant spine of hers. If you don’t believe me, all you have to do is take one more step.”

Abram backed up, then held his arms up. “I just wanted to check to see if she was okay.”

Dahl used the hand without the knife to smack her on her butt. “You are fine, are you not?”

A muffled cry squeaked into the air. The rush of fury nearly toppled Abram. With a heaving chest, he took a step forward. “Okay, Dahl. Let us have a discussion. How do you see this ending?” He bit the words out through gritted teeth, barely able to control his words. Hardly able to keep himself from wringing his brother’s neck. But Orris was just there. He needed to keep her safe.

“Well, you are going to give me any remaining letters, then you will accept responsibility for fathering a child outside of wedlock. Father will be skeptical, but then he will see what you have written, and naturally, he will understand that you have never been the kind man you claim to be. Then he will know the truth. Then I shall not require fulfilling my promise to end your uselessness in this world.”

Part of Abram was horrified. Somehow, even as he’d confronted his brother, he had not wanted to believe the message—that he would be killed next—had been from his brother. Further, the plan made no sense. Even if Da got a letter saying such a thing, he would never believe it. And would the mother of this child go along and pretend it had been Abram, and not Dahl, who’d deflowered her? But he wasn’t going to argue with Dahl. The man was clearly not to be reasoned with. “Whatever you should like me to do, I will. Where is the pen and paper?”

Abram glanced around the room. Though he was looking for something to write with, he was also looking for a weapon.

“You had better go get one and bring it back here,” he said.

Dahl was thick on most occasions, but to demand someone send correspondence without any materials to do so was evidence of his lost grip on reality. “I can get one for us. While I do that, I can walk her out of the building. Then it will be just me and you.”

“Without her, you would not return. Can you not see that she is my leverage?” Dahl stood from the small chair in the corner to the edge of the bed beside Orris. He took his knife and placed the tip on her hip. “She is the power I hold over you. Don’t you understand? When we were children, I used to take all of your pets and let them go or torture them for days. Do you remember the way you used to cry over them? Well, let’s see what makes you cry today.” Dahl cut a piece of her silk ribbon tied into a bow on the back of her dress.

“I promise you, this is not what you want to do,” Abram panted, barely able to manage the words. His temple pulsed as his brain puzzled out how to extract the first woman he had ever loved from his brother’s clutches.

He held up the strip with two fingers before letting it flutter to the floor. “Dresses are quite expensive, no? They cut so simply.”

Another muffled wail sounded out, mingling with Dahl’s perverse laughter. Abram took another step toward them, ready to risk anything to prevent more harm from befalling Orris. Nothing else mattered, not brotherhood, not loyalty, or even the consequences of killing a man, something Abram could never have imagined. But in that moment, he was no longer the mild-mannered painter he presumed himself to be. Right then, he was beleaguered with rage, one so intense, he could take Dahl apart with his bare hands.

Abram made the decision, in that moment, that he would save Orris even if he had to die himself while trying.

“Dahl, I am asking you to let her go. I am telling you to let her go. This is between us. She has not done anything to deserve this.”

“They are all alike. If my intended were not wealthy herself, I would not bother with her. They want the title, the money, and they will do anything to get it. Even marry someone like you. You are pathetic. Willing to be dragged around by your nose for some bit of quim.”

“I am warning you.” Abram was growing angrier with each passing minute. It did not matter who she was—any threat to a woman made his blood run hot. With it being Orris, it only stoked the coals in his belly.

“What will you do, hmph? Risk her life when you stupidly came here with no weapon?” He raised the knife, pointing it at Abram.

“You are not even a man. If you were, you would not need one of those,” Abram chided. “No man would harm a woman for a situation brought on entirely by his own actions. Have you gone mad?”

“You are tempting me to taste her sweet blood,” he said.

“And you are tempting me to taste yours, Brother.”

Dahl rose from the bed, ever unable to resist a fight. He took a step closer to Abram. “I should like to see you try.”

Just then, a knock sounded from the door. “Open up,” the gruff voice demanded.

“I told you not to bring anyone,” he said. With the knife pointed at Abram’s throat, he charged.

There was no time to think. Abram grabbed the blade with his bare hand and pushed it away, a sharp pain cutting into his flesh. With his free hand, he punched Dahl in the side, then again beneath his chin.

Dahl was stunned, staggering back, the knife yanking free from Abram’s hand. Blood splattered from the wound. Before Dahl could regain his footing, Abram charged him again. The two were tangled, and Dahl pushed Abram off him, knocking him against the window. The glass crackled as the heavy weight slammed against it.

Dahl raised his hand once more, the tip of the knife above Abram’s head. Breaking the momentum of Dahl’s swing, Abram grabbed his hand, straining to keep the blade from piercing his flesh. He punched Dahl once more in the stomach, knocking the man off him once more.

His murderous glare showed how intensely he wanted to end Abram’s life. Teeth gritted, he charged once more. Abram ducked to get out of his way but lost his footing.