Page 85 of Tamed By her Duke

“Why?” he growled. “What did ye need that ye didn’t already have? What did ye need that was worth puttin’your daughterat risk?”

Graham bared his teeth and, somehow, Caleb knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“This country is going to hell,” he said. “And Parliament is too full of idiots and so-called ‘redeemers’ to put things right again. I needed them tolistento me.”

He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe that anyone would be so foolish as to dare to disagree with him.

“It wasn’t supposed to go like that. Priscilla was meant to deliver me Dowling, who was supposed to take the fall. Afailedkidnapping, you see. If he was killed in the process, was shown to be a radical?” The duke shrugged, then winced at the motion. “All the better. Then her reputation would still be unblemished, and she could be useful when it came time to marry her off.”

His voice grew thick with disgust. It was all Caleb could do not to kill him just then.

“Priscilla was a greedy little slut, though. She thought she could get the best of me. So she told Dowling something different than what she told me, and he got away with Grace. The plan still worked, for all the incompetence being strewn about. Everyone wasso worriedover poor little Grace.”

“So yelefther?” Caleb asked. “Ye left your child to be held prisoner—foryears—so that ye could get sympathy?”

Graham gave him a pitying look. “I waschanging England. All Grace had to do was live in a barn. The results were well worth the sacrifice. Besides,” he added, “she found her way back anyway, didn’t she? A little soiled, I suppose, and rather less useful than she was before, but she returned. She wasn’t even harmed.”

He said this so flippantly, as if the fact that Grace still had all her limbs meant that his actions had been justified. He said it like he didn’t care—like he’d never evenconsidered—her fear, her pain.

But Caleb knew about those things. He cared. He loathed to think of every second that Grace was mistreated, grew murderous over pondering any harsh words spoken against her. And he saw the lasting effect it had on her, saw it in the way her gaze grew distant when she spoke of the tenants being cold, when she gasped in the night, only to grope for him blindly, not settling until she felt him there with her again.

He saw it. And if the Duke of Graham didn’t, it was because he didn’t care to look.

And for that, the man deserved to be punished.

Caleb’s logical mind had left him; all that was left was rage, righteous fury. This man had been tasked with protecting Grace for most of her life, and he had failed beyond comprehension.

Caleb would not fail. He would be her vengeance. He would be her red right hand. He would strike so that she did not have to.

The duke deserved no mercy; he deserved no final words, no consolation, no explanation.

So, Caleb said nothing. He just stood, reached, put his fingers around the duke’s throat, and began to squeeze.

It took a second, maybe two, for the Duke of Graham to realize what was happening. Those seconds were fatal. By the time he began grappling against Caleb’s grip, it was too late. He was already losing air, was already growing dizzy from the way Caleb’s bruising grip compressed the veins in his neck. His face grew red. His mouth moved in a panic. His nail bit into Caleb’s hands, his arms, but he didn’t relent. He would not relent, not until the man was dead.

Not until the duke was dead or until a small, slender hand laid on his arm, the touch staggeringly gentle compared to Caleb’s violence.

“Stop, Caleb,” his wife said, her eyes too understanding. “You have to stop.”

The flicker of wildness in her husband’s gaze left Grace temporarily uncertain that he’d heard her, that her words had gotten through to him. But his grip relented, not enough to release her father, but enough that the Duke of Graham was able to start sucking great, noisy breaths in through his mouth.

“You heard,” Caleb said, focus entirely on her, as if the man he was throttling was a mere afterthought.

She nodded. She felt numb to the revelation, though she knew that wouldn’t last. There would come a time to cry and weep and rail. But now, all she felt was a grim sort of acceptance.

Of course it had been her father all along. Of course. Who else could it have been?

“I did,” she confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean you should kill him. Not,” she added, casting a spare glance for her father, who looked a mess, tears dripping from his eyes and snot leaking from his nose as he continued to gasp, “that I say as much for his sake.” She looked up at Caleb again, whose gaze had no left her face. “But he’s not worth becoming a murderer over.”

Caleb clenched his jaw. “I’ve killed before,leannan,” he reminded her. “It’s all I’m good for.”

She let the hand she was still resting on his arm clench, let him feel the bite of her nails for just a second, let that pinprick of pain punctuate her point.

“It isnot,” she said crossly, “the only thing you are good for. Caleb.” Her tone softened. “I need you here. I need you to stay with me.” She swallowed hard, emotion choking her throat. “I need you to keep me safe, to be there when I get afraid. You can’t lethim—” She didn’t even spare her traitorous father a glance. “—take you away from me. Not you, too.” She felt tears welling in her eyes. “Please, Caleb. Please.”

She lifted her hand from his arm to caress his cheek. Sure enough, that faint prickle was already forming, even though it had been mere hours since he’d shaved. He leaned, ever so slightly into her touch.

“Let him go,” she exhorted, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

---