***
The sight of Evangeline running toward him with obvious terror while two strange men were pursuing her and Wellington was fighting desperately to protect her, had triggered something so primitive and violent in Lucian's nature that rational thought had temporarily ceased to function. Every instinct bred into him by years of warfare had screamed for immediate, overwhelming retaliation against anyone who dared threaten what was his.
The fact that Edmund had escalated from verbal threats to actual physical danger against Evangeline filled him with a rage so pure that it threatened to consume every vestige of civilized behavior he had painstakingly maintained since his return from the war. His cousin had crossed a line that no gentleman should ever cross, and the consequences of such transgression would be both swift and memorable.
Yet beneath the fury lay a terror so profound that it made his hands shake as he checked Evangeline for injuries. He had come so close to losing her—to losing the one person who had brought light back into his dark existence, that the mere thought of what might have happened left him nauseated with reaction.
The efficiency with which he had dealt with their attackers spoke of skills he had hoped never to employ again in civilian life, yet he felt no regret for the violence he had inflicted upon men who would harm an innocent woman for money. Some actions transcended the bounds of civilized discourse and required responses that civilized society preferred to ignore.
Watching Evangeline compose herself after such a traumatic experience, seeing the way she controlled her fear and maintained her dignity even in the aftermath of genuine peril,filled him with admiration that bordered on reverence. She possessed courage that many men would envy, combined with a strength of character that adversity seemed only to refine rather than diminish.
"We should return to the Manor immediately," he said once he was satisfied that she had suffered no physical harm from her ordeal. "And we need to discuss the implications of Edmund's latest escalation."
"Indeed, we do," she agreed with the sort of grim determination that suggested her experience had strengthened rather than weakened her resolve to resist Pembroke's schemes. "Though I confess myself grateful for Wellington's intervention and your timely arrival. Moreover, I would also like to apologise for not having a chaperone with me as I was supposed but I did not think the walk to the village would be dangerous.”
The dog in question was staying close to her side, clearly understanding that his protective duties had been successfully completed but remaining alert for any sign that further defense might be required. Lucian found himself experiencing genuine gratitude toward an animal whose loyalty and courage had potentially saved his wife's life.
"Wellington proved himself a worthy member of our household today," he observed, noting the way the dog's presence seemed to provide Evangeline with continued comfort. "Though I suspect we cannot rely upon canine protection to deter future attempts at intimidation. Therefore, I would like you not to go anywhere without a chaperone again.”
"No, we cannot only rely on a dog and I shall definitely never go out alone again but we must take more active measures to ensure that Edmund's schemes are defeated before they can cause additional harm."
Her matter-of-fact acceptance of the need for decisive action impressed him with its lack of feminine hysteria or demands forimpossible guarantees of future safety. She understood that they were now engaged in a war of sorts, and she was prepared to fight rather than surrender to their enemy's demands.
The ride back to Ravenshollow Manor passed in relative silence, both of them absorbed in contemplation of the day's events and their implications for the future. Yet Lucian found himself acutely aware of Evangeline's presence beside him, grateful beyond measure that Edmund's escalation had not resulted in the loss of the woman who had become far more precious to him than mere convenience or duty could explain.
The confrontation with hired ruffians had crystallized certain realities that he could no longer ignore or deny. His feelings for his wife had evolved far beyond respectful appreciation into something that resembled genuine devotion, and the thought of losing her to Edmund's machinations—or worse, to actual violence—was simply unbearable to contemplate.
Whatever the cost, whatever the risk to his own welfare, he would protect Evangeline from his cousin's malice. She had become the center of his existence in ways that he was only beginning to understand, and he would not allow Edmund's greed and desperation to destroy the only happiness he had known since his return from war.
The future would undoubtedly bring additional challenges as Edmund's schemes could grow more desperate and more dangerous. But today had proven that he and Evangeline could face such challenges together, supported by loyalty and courage that transcended the practical considerations that had originally brought them together.
Perhaps their marriage of convenience was indeed becoming something more substantial than either had initially anticipated. And perhaps, Lucian thought with cautious hope, it might yet prove strong enough to withstand whatever trials layahead.
Chapter Thirteen
The evening light filtering through the tall windows of the Duke's chambers cast long shadows across the floor, emphasizing the solitary figure who stood before the ornate looking glass with the sort of grim contemplation that had become his evening ritual. Lucian studied his reflection with the detached assessment of a man cataloguing damage that could never be entirely repaired, his fingers unconsciously tracing the network of scars that marked the left side of his face like a map of past agonies.
The afternoon's violence had awakened muscles that had grown unaccustomed to such exertions, leaving him with the sort of bone-deep soreness that reminded him forcibly of his early days of recovery in the field hospital. His knuckles bore fresh abrasions from their contact with his attackers' faces, while his left arm ached with the familiar pain that had never entirely departed since the cannon blast that had nearly claimed his life.
He had removed his shirt and waistcoat to examine the extent of his discomfort, revealing the full scope of the damage that war had inflicted upon what had once been considered a remarkably fine physique. The scars that marked his torso told the story of his service with brutal honesty—the puckered flesh where shrapnel had torn through muscle, the twisted skin where surgeons had labored to save his life, the permanent reminder of how close he had come to joining his fallen comrades.
Once, he reflected with bitter irony, he had been considered quite handsome by the fashionable world. Ladies had competed for his attention at London balls, their mothers had schemed to secure his interest for their daughters, and his presence at social gatherings had been sought after rather than endured. The man who had entered the military as a young man confident in hisappeal to the opposite sex bore little resemblance to the scarred recluse who now avoided mirrors whenever possible.
What would his life have been like if Napoleon had chosen a different battlefield, if French artillery had been positioned mere yards to the left or right, if Captain Hartwell had not possessed the courage to dig him from beneath the rubble that should have been his tomb? The questions tormented him with their implications, suggesting possibilities that ranged from simple death to continued existence as the man he had been rather than the damaged creature he had become.
The sound of rapid footsteps in the corridor outside his chambers interrupted his melancholy contemplation, followed immediately by the sort of commotion that suggested something had disrupted the usual evening quiet of Ravenshollow Manor. Before he could properly assess the nature of the disturbance, his chamber door burst open with such force that it struck the wall behind it with a resounding crash.
A streak of golden fur shot through the opening like a cannonball, followed closely by the rustling of silk skirts and the unmistakable sound of feminine laughter that transformed the atmosphere of his private sanctuary with startling immediacy. Wellington had apparently initiated some sort of game that involved pursuit through the corridors of the house, and Evangeline had been drawn into participation with the sort of wholehearted enthusiasm that marked her approach to most activities.
"Wellington, your impossible creature!" she called out breathlessly, her voice bright with genuine amusement as she pursued the dog into the forbidden territory of her husband's private chambers. "Come back here at once, you cannot simply—"
Her words died abruptly as she caught sight of Lucian standing motionless before his looking glass, and he watchedher expression transform from laughing pursuit to shocked stillness as she absorbed the implications of her accidental intrusion. Her dark eyes widened with something that might have been alarm or perhaps simple surprise as she took in his state of undress, though he noted with fascination that she showed no immediate inclination to flee from the sight that had sent other women into hysterics.
For a moment, they remained frozen in a tableau that would have scandalized any proper chaperone, the half-dressed Duke and his wife facing each other across the intimate space of his bedchamber while a thoroughly pleased dog settled himself on the hearth rug as though he had planned the entire encounter. The silence stretched between them, weighted with implications that neither seemed prepared to address directly.
"I beg your pardon," Evangeline managed finally, though Lucian noticed that her gaze did not immediately seek the floor in the manner of a properly mortified lady. Instead, her eyes seemed to move across his scarred torso with what appeared to be genuine interest rather than revulsion, studying the evidence of his injuries with the sort of careful attention that suggested fascination rather than horror.
The realization that she was examining his damaged form without visible distress sent an unexpected jolt of sensation through his entire being, awakening responses that he had thought permanently suppressed by years of self-conscious isolation. No woman had looked upon his scars with anything approaching acceptance since his return from the war, and the experience of being studied without immediate rejection was both thrilling and terrifying in its implications.
