Page 108 of Trapped with the Forbidden Duke
His lips met hers, even as he was already sinking to his knees.
And when his tongue entered her, Edwina could barely clap a hand over her mouth fast enough.
Ten days later, Lucien stalked Lord Stockton to the nondescript house he had been staying in. He had gone into hiding after the failed attempt on Nicholas’s life, and despite him still being in London, he had evaded Lucien rather well.
Until now.
“Your Grace,” Lord Stockton said, stumbling back against his desk. His eyes were wide as Lucien merely rolled up his sleeves, smiling darkly. “Your Grace, I am certain we can discuss?—”
“Shut up, Stockton,” Lucien growled. “You threatened my wife, endangered her, and you attempted to kill my brother-in-law. Ido believe I am right when I say my plan for you is barely half of what you truly deserve.”
He let his anger overtake him, thinking of the last ten sleepless nights he had either spent in Edwina’s embrace or scouring the streets for Stockton—only to now see the man be reduced to a simpering fool.
“Do be clever now,” he drawled as he grabbed the Earl by the collar. “Is that not what you told my wife? When I walk out of here, I expect you to heed your own advice.”
Before Lord Stockton could say anything, Lucien slammed his fist into the side of the man’s face, sending him reeling. The Earl would have crumpled had Lucien not gripped him with his other hand.
“You are a coward,” Lucien hissed, spitting on him right before he landed another blow.
He heard the clack of teeth, and Lord Stockton cried out in pain.
Lucien barely felt the throbbing in his fist. All he could see was Edwina’s bone-white, fearful face as she told him about Lord Stockton cornering her in the market.
“You will never, ever lay another finger on my wife.”
Lord Stockton whimpered, nodding.
“Say it,” Lucien snarled, wrapping his hand around the man’s throat. He slammed him back against the desk, looming over him. “Say it.”
“I-I shall never lay another finger on Her Grace!” Lord Stockton cried out.
Lucien smiled slowly, pleased. And then he let his fists rain down on the man who had tried to take everything from him. Punch after punch, he released the pent-up anger, the tension, the pitiful, drunken spiral. It all tumbled out until his knuckles were split and his heart hammered in his chest.
Until Lord Stockton was nothing but a heap on the floor, cowering as blood streamed down his bruised face.
Lucien stood back and landed a swift kick to the man’s ribs. Lord Stockton groaned, curling in on himself.
“You made a mistake by coming after my family, Stockton—one I know you will not repeat.” Lucien kicked him in the ribs again.
“P-Please, Your Grace, have mercy.”
“Oh, I have already. Mercy is me not killing you. Mercy is me telling you this—leave England forever. Do not attempt to contact, swindle, or infiltrate any of my ventures, family, or land, or I shall scatter all of your limbs across Mayfair in such tiny pieces that the constables will not be able to detect that it is you. Understood?”
“Understood, Your Grace.” Lord Stockton nodded frantically.
And by the time Lucien had walked out of the small, plain townhouse, he felt a great deal lighter.
Everything would be perfect, and he realized he could have that life he had not let himself dream of since he was a boy.
When he arrived home, Lucien pulled his wife in his arms and pressed kisses to the nape of her neck.
Edwina giggled as she spun around to face him. Her eyes flicked down to his bloody, split knuckles, and she winced, but she already knew what he had left the house to do. Soon enough, she would fuss over him, but he wished to distract her.
“I do believe we have an opera to attend soon,” he said thoughtfully. “May I take you, my Duchess? I do know how you wished to be courted.”
“I do not need to be courted, but I would never say no to attending the opera.”
“Tonight,” he murmured.
