Page 111 of Deceiving an Earl
Oliver took in his blackened eye. The swelling had gone down, but it still looked painful and raw. Another wave of fury overtook him. Needham had caused that. Needham had punched his son, and he wasn’t getting away with that, either.
“I need you to watch over your mother for now.”
“You don’t think I can do it. You don’t think I can fight Needham.”
“That’s not true. I know you can. I know you feel the same rage inside that I do. There is a parallel rage inside me for what he did to your eye. I will avenge that as well.”
Philip appeared stunned for a moment, then frightened. “What if he hurts you, too?” he whispered.
“I won’t allow that to happen.”
“But what if you can’t stop it? What if he has a pistol and he shoots you?”
“I won’t be completely alone. I’ll have friends watching from the shadows. He won’t kill me.” But part of Oliver wondered at the outcome. Philip was right. If cornered, there was no telling what Needham would do.
He’d already escaped one scandal. He might not escape another. Killing a nobleman such as Oliver would be a bold and stupid move, but desperate men did desperate things.
A week ago he wouldn’t have cared if his life ended. Now it was all about Ellen. Avenging Ellen. Protecting Ellen. But there was Philip to think about now. His son. He couldn’t leave Philip an orphan even if he could never acknowledge their relationship outright.
“He won’t be so stupid as to shoot me,” he said.
Philip glanced at Ellen, then down at his hands. “I wouldn’t think him so stupid as to hit a woman, either,” Philip said softly.
“It’s never right to hit a woman, Philip. Never. No matter the circumstances. They are bold and wonderful creatures, women. And we are here to protect them. When that trust of protection is breached then justice must serve.”
“And you are the justice?”
“I am.”
Philip nodded. “Just come back to us.”
“I will return.” He took one more look at Philip—his son. He was just on the cusp of manhood but not really a man yet. There was still much of the little boy in him, the one who needed his mother and a good father figure. He would be a fine man someday. He just required guidance to the right path.
Oliver nodded to him as he left, sending up a small prayer that he would be back.
It was surprisingly easy to gain entrance to Needham’s townhouse. The housekeeper simply let him in and directed him to the front parlor where Oliver cooled his heels for about ten minutes.
Needham’s home was not at all what Oliver would have pictured. It was nearly sterile, with no pictures on the walls or carpets on the hard floors. He had utilitarian furniture as if he knew he needed furniture so he’d bought the least expensive he could find. Being such a prominent physician and especially one to the royal family, you would think he was wealthier than this. But then Oliver knew of men who were hugely wealthy but chose not to spend money on things that would make them more comfortable.
Needham appeared in the doorway then stopped short, surprise in his expression.
“I take it your housekeeper didn’t tell you who was calling?”
“She didn’t.” Needham stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him, but he stayed where he was, not venturing inside. “What are you doing here?”
“I think you know.”
“If this has to do with Ellen, then it is none of your business. The moment she agreed to wed me she was out of your life for good.”
Did the man have no remorse? Did he not care that he’d left her nearly dead?
“I did not agree to that.” Oliver started walking the perimeter of the room, still far away from Needham, but when he completed his circuit he would be next to him. Needham watched him closely. “She has four broken fingers, bruised ribs, a broken orbital bone, and so many cuts and bruises that the physician stopped counting.”
Needham remained silent, his gaze fixed on Oliver.
“Does it not concern you that you almost killed her?”
“But I didn’t.”
