Page 117 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

Rowan dove left, rolling behind his horse as the animal reared in panic. The second shot splintered bark inches from his head.

“He’s behind the horse!”

“Get around the other side!”

They separated, trying to flank him. Rowan waited until the first man rounded the horse’s hindquarters, then exploded upward. His fist connected with the man’s jaw, sending him staggering backward.

The pistol flew from nervous fingers. Rowan caught it, spun, and fired at the second attacker. The ball took the man in the shoulder, spinning him to the ground.

The first thug rushed him. Rowan ducked the wild swing, drove his elbow into the man’s ribs, then brought his knee up into the doubled-over face. Blood spurted. The man dropped like a stone.

The wounded one was trying to crawl away. Rowan kicked him in the head. He went limp.

Both men were unconscious. Good.

Rowan checked the cottage. One window glowed with lamplight. Movement inside.

He approached the door. Locked.

He stepped back and kicked. Wood splintered. The door burst inward.

“Stay back!” Annette’s voice was high with panic. “I’ll kill her!”

Rowan froze in the doorway. Selina sat bound on an old settee, Annette behind her with a pistol pressed to her temple. His wife’s eyes met his, wide with fear but alert.

“Let her go,” Rowan hissed. “Your quarrel is with me.”

“Is it? Or is it with the entire cursed Blackmore line?” Annette’s hand shook. Sweat beaded her forehead. “You destroyed everything I loved. Everything I was meant to have.”

“I destroyed nothing.”

“You killed your mother! Your birth tore her apart, left your father drowning in guilt and self-loathing. If you’d never existed, Catherine would be alive. Gerald and I would have married. We’d have been happy.”

Rowan took a careful step forward. “Put the gun down, Annette. We can discuss this.”

“Don’t move!” The pistol jerked. Selina flinched. “The ton will believe it, you know. The mad duke who vanished, came back wrong, killed his wife and lover in a jealous rage. This cottage still belongs to you, after all.”

Another step.Keep her talking.

“You think my father loved you,” Rowan said. “But you know the truth, don’t you? Deep down, you know what he really was.”

“He did love me! For twenty years, I was everything to him. His refuge, his comfort, his?—”

“His convenience.” Rowan’s voice turned icy. “Nothing more. A woman he could use when he needed escape from his failures.”

“No.” Annette’s voice cracked. “We were going to marry after my husband died. He promised.”

“He promised many things. To creditors he never paid. To my mother before he started his affairs. To himself that he’d change.” Rowan took another step. “But you know he’d never have married you. Not really. Not when it mattered.”

“You’re wrong!”

“Am I? How many times did he promise to leave my mother for you? How many times did he swear the next year would be different?” Rowan could see doubt creeping into her eyes. “He treated everyone the same way, Annette. He used people, then discarded them when they became inconvenient.”

“He loved me,” she whispered, but the words sounded hollow now.

“He loved no one but himself. You gave him twenty years of your life, and he gave you nothing but empty promises and borrowed time.” Rowan was close enough now to see tears on her cheeks. “You deserved better. You still do.”

The gun wavered. “I… I couldn’t have wasted all those years for nothing. He must have…”

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