“Leave,” the first guard ordered.
“I’m not leaving without her.”
The second guard, a big man with a scar running down his cheek, sneered. “The lady is not your business anymore. She’s here of her own free will, and we cannot allow you to barge in and disrupt our business.”
The hell I can’t.
“Try and bloody stop me.” The first man reached for him but he blocked the guard before he could lay a hand on him, his temper dangerously close to snapping. Only she got to touch him. “Get out of my way.”
“That’s not happening,” the man muttered darkly.
Very well. Then there was nothing for it. Blake took a step back, his hands curling into fists. His muscles coiled, ready to deal with the men blocking him.
“Enough.”
The single word sliced through the charged air. Blake’s head snapped up toward the source of interruption. A woman stepped out of the shadows of the floor above them, her presence causing whispers to erupt around him.
The veiled widow herself—Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
Though her face remained partially hidden beneath a thick veil, her posture was straight, regal, and unflinching.
“Let him pass.”
Blake straightened his coat and glared at the two men. As if they could have stopped him from getting to Rosilee anyway.
Nothing could stop him.
Not even the veiled widow herself.
Just let them try.
Chapter Sixteen
Rosilee had neverseen a more handsome sight. The wind had whipped through his hair, giving him his wildest look yet, and his cloak billowed behind him as he strode up the stairs. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, her gaze fixed on him as he ascended. The tension in the room thickened with every step he took, every soft echo of his boots muffled against the carpeted staircase. When he reached the landing, his eyes immediately locked with hers, and they refused to let go.
What had happened since she’d left?
Mrs. Dove-Lyon spoke before Rosilee could breathe even one word. “This is my establishment, Your Grace,” she said, her tone cold but measured. “No one causes a scene here.”
“You know who I am?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “I know everyone.”
“Be that as it may, Rosilee won’t be requiring your services. I shall provide her with all that she needs.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon tilted her head slightly, her veil swaying with the movement. “And what is it, exactly, that you offer her? More heartache? More rejection?”
The words hit Rosilee like a blow. How did Mrs. Dove-Lyon know? Was she that much of an open book?
“I offer her myself.” Blake’s voice cracked on the last, causing her whole body to jerk in response.
What had he just said?
“All of me. No more stubbornness, no more holding back. She’s my heart, my everything. And I won’t leave here without her.”
Oh, Holy Heavens.
Had the duke just said helovedher? Rosilee stood staring at the man, at a loss for words. Where was the man who had sent her to Stagbourne?
