Page 86 of The Duke's Scottish Bride
“Oh, of course it was to ensure you were deemed mad, so that after our marriage, you could be promptly dealt with.”
Marion shivered as a silent tear went down her cheek.
“Oh, nothing as bad as that. Here you are again with the hysterics. I would have made sure you were just sent away… perhaps, to a quiet asylum. Just somewhere you would never trouble me again,” he said as a cruel laugh came from deep in his chest. “And your dear uncle and aunt were quite amenable to the plan, I assure you. After their more recent financial troubles, they expected a generous cut of your dowry for their cooperation in this matter.”
Marion’s mind reeled at his admission. The betrayal, the sheer depravity of his plan, and the involvement of her own family… She knew that the Harlowes were struggling a bit this part year, yes. Indeed, this year, they’d been more persistent in marrying her off.
It was a sickening revelation that made her stomach turn. Yet, she looked up to stare into his furious eyes. She knew him well enough to know that her defiance would only fuel his rage further.
He pressed the blade deeper into the thin skin at her throat. “Still defiant, are we, Your Grace? Very well. If you will not pay, then perhaps your beloved sister-in-law will. Imagine what the scandal sheets of London would pay for the truth of her story. That the esteemed Lady Verity Greystead, the Duke’s only sister, is the one writing those filthy novels under the thin veil of a pseudonym.The Highland Holiday, indeed! I saw her with my own eyes, leaving the printer’s, clutching her ill-gotten gains across her chest like the trollop she is.”
“You wouldnae?—”
“Oh, I assure you that thetonwould be most interested to learn of herliterary pursuits.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Ye mean?” Marion asked. “Ye cannae possibly be sayin…”
“Oh, yes. You have not figured this out yet?” Gilton teased. “I was the one who followed you both just the other night, Your Grace. If only your cursed husband had not shown up to ruin it all, I would have been able to exact my plan there and then!”
Suddenly, a heavy walking stick swung with brutal precision and connected with Gilton’s arm. He cried out in pain and the knife he had clutched in his grasp clattered to the stones on the ground with a clank.
Anselm’s face was a mask of fury as he stared at him. His green eyes were piercing and cold. Behind him stood Mr. Lewis, panting slightly as he surveyed the situation.
Marion realized with a jolt that Anselm had indeed had her watched, just as he had Verity.
There will be time for that later, she thought as gratitude seized her chest.Thank the heavens that he is here!
Anselm grabbed Gilton by the lapels and yanked him away from Marion before throwing him to the ground. Gilton landed with a grunt as he scrambled to sit up.
“You pathetic worm,” Anselm snarled as he enunciated each syllable. He raised his walking stick again. Then, he brought it down with controlled viciousness on Gilton’s arm before hitting his leg with a loud crack.
Gilton whimpered. He clutched his arm and then his leg before raising his hands in surrender.
“You… you cannot do this!” he begged. “You have ruined me! Have you not done enough?”
Anselm stood over him. His breath was even, and his composure was chillingly calm despite the violence he had just unleashed.
“Ruined? My dear Gilton, you have no idea what ruin truly is. While you were busy plotting your petty schemes, my Bow Street Runner, Mr. Daniels, has been quite thorough,” he said as he gestured to the quiet, efficient man standing a few paces away underneath a tree. “He has uncovered every last one of your debts. To be clear—every fraudulent dealing and sordid detail ofyour pathetic existence. In fact, I was quite impressed by just how pathetic you are.”
“How dare you…”
“In fact, your creditors are already on their way,” Anselm said as he took a pocket watch out and glanced passingly at the hour. “It seems your time is up. Your reputation, what little there was, is in tatters. This is all your own making, Gilton. Your name will be mud in every respectable circle in London by noon. You have my word on that.”
Gilton’s face went ashen. “No… no, you would not dare!”
“Oh, I assure you, I would dare,” Anselm pressed. “Now, listen carefully, Gilton. You will leave England. Tonight. You will never set foot on these shores again. If I ever hear so much as a whisper of your presence, if you ever dare to approach my wife, my sister, or anyone connected to my household again, you will regret it deeply. More deeply than you can possibly imagine. Do you understand me?”
Gilton merely nodded as he attempted to scramble backwards on the damp grass. “Yes… yes, Your Grace. I do believe I understand.” He pushed himself to his feet, clutching his injured arm. He fled and quickly became a pathetic, limping shadow before disappearing into the misty park with his tail quite literally tucked between his legs.
Anselm watched him go for a moment, then turned. His eyes snapped to Marion as he was brought back, crashing down, toreality. His cold fury instantly evaporated and was replaced by a raw, desperate concern to see her safe. He rushed to her with his hands reaching out, gently cupping her perfect face.
“Oh, Marion! Are you hurt?” His gaze fell to her neck, where a thin, red line marred her delicate ivory skin.
I cannot fathom how this happened, how far this all went. This gaping wound is nothing more than another testament to my failure. How did I let this happen to my tempest?
“It is nothin’, Anselm,” Marion whispered. “I promise it is just a scratch. Truly, I will be quite all right once me heart slows down. It is beatin’ as fast as a mare in an open field! I cannae believe what ye did for me.”
