Page 62 of Three Scandals for the Wild Duke

“You are hurting me, Father,” Emma cried out, her voice laced with pain as she struggled to free herself from her father’s cruel hold.

That was the final straw for George. With his heart pounding in his chest and a righteous fury burning through his veins, he moved without a second thought. He strode forward, covering the ground between them with determined steps.

“You belong tome!” Dewsbury continued to bellow, oblivious to George’s approach until it was too late.

“She is a human being first before she is your daughter,” George interjected forcefully as he reached them, his voice booming in the quiet garden. With a swift, decisive motion, he grabbed the Baron’s wrist and yanked it away from Emma. “And she is certainly not an object to be possessed and manipulated as you please,” he added, his tone just as furious as the Baron’s.

CHAPTER 25

“What right have you to interfere with family business, Seymore?” Dewsbury snapped, his voice thick with contempt as he glared up at George.

George towered over the man, his jaw clenched as he fought to maintain control over his rising anger. “I refuse to stand by and watch such despicable abuse and disrespect. Even between family,” he responded. His words were measured and firm, betraying none of the fury that simmered within him.

“Playing the good Samaritan now, are we?” The Baron’s voice dripped with sarcasm, his sneer intended to belittle.

“Don’t you have any skirts to slip into as usual and mind your own business, Your Grace?” he derided, his words meant to provoke.

“Father, that is enough,” Emma interjected sharply. Her presence, though physically smaller, seemed to fill the space with a defiant strength.

When the Baron turned to her, his face contorted in anger, George’s protective instinct took over. He stepped forward, placing himself between Emma and her father, effectively shielding her. “You shut up and let the men handle this one, girl,” Dewsbury barked at his daughter, his tone dismissive and harsh.

“You will respect your daughter, Baron Dewsbury,” George countered sternly, his voice low and threatening. He stood to his full height, an imposing figure of righteous indignation, and took a decisive step closer to the Baron.

Faced with George’s unwavering stance, the Baron involuntarily took a step back, his earlier bravado faltering under the intense scrutiny and firm opposition.

Good, George thought to himself, a grim satisfaction settling in as he saw the fear flicker in Dewsbury’s eyes.

“Or what?” Dewsbury retorted, his voice carrying a trace of uncertainty that hadn’t been there moments before.

“Or I will ensure you never breathe another air of dignity in society. I will make your life a living hell and break those ambitions of yours so you are seen as no better than those you disdain,” George warned, his voice cold and unyielding. Thethreat was not just a collection of words; it was a promise, a declaration of his resolve to protect Emma at any cost.

Baron Dewsbury sputtered, taken aback by the intensity and firmness of George’s threat. He glared at his daughter once more, the malice clear in his eyes, but he found himself unable to articulate a response.

With a frustrated huff, he turned to leave, barking over his shoulder, “Come along, girl.”

Emma did not move. Dewsbury began to walk away, but he paused when he realized that Emma was not following him. The absence of her footsteps echoed louder than any words.

“Did you not hear me?” The Baron turned sharply, retracing his steps with a scowl. “We return to the ballroom this instant,” he commanded, his voice a harsh bark in the quiet of the garden.

“I am not going,” Emma declared, standing taller beside George. Her voice, firm and resolute, carried through the night air.

George could feel the shift in her confidence. His presence had fortified her, given her the courage to stand up against the tyranny she had faced for so long. He was gratified by her bravery, proud that his support could make such a difference, however small.

“You dare defy me?” Dewsbury’s voice was incredulous, his face a mask of disbelief and rage. He took a threatening step toward Emma, presumably to physically coerce her into compliance.

George moved without hesitation, stepping forward, positioning himself even more squarely between Emma and her father. The action was enough. Dewsbury halted, the resolve in George’s stance evidently giving him pause. In that moment, the Baron seemed to shrink, his earlier dominance withering.

“You will pay for this,” Dewsbury spat venomously before turning on his heels to storm off into the night. His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and George wasn’t entirely sure whom the future retribution was promised to—himself, or the defiant daughter beside him? Most likely both, he concluded as he watched the Baron’s retreating figure.

When George finally turned his attention back to Emma, meeting her beleaguered gaze, something profound within him shifted. The expression in her eyes was weary yet resolute, and it spoke volumes, dissolving the facade of misunderstandings that had previously clouded his judgment.

The answers to all his questions, not to mention his suspicions, were clear in the depths of her eyes. George realized with a sinking feeling in his chest that he had been mistaken about her all along. The realization weighed heavily on his heart, and as he stood there, the evening’s chill seemed to seep deeper into his bones.

“T–thank you,” Emma managed to whisper, her voice barely audible over the emotions roiling inside her after her father’s vehement departure. She shuddered to think what might have happened had George not been there to intervene.

“Emma,” he said softly, his hand gently grazing her arm. His touch was tentative at first, as if he feared she might crumble under even the slightest pressure. Then, with a decisiveness that seemed to gather both their resolves, he reached for her properly, pulling her into his arms at last.

Emma found herself collapsing into his embrace, the conflicts within her momentarily quieted by his comforting presence. Despite the chaos of the evening, being held by him felt right. She needed the warmth of his embrace; she neededhim.

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