Page 137 of Pride: The Rogue
Some gentleman—the Earl of Wakefield—urged the Duchess of Argyll over. “…get her out of here, Duchess…”
Spent from the physical exertions of beating Forfar to a pulp and muddled by the sight of the Duchess of Argyll folding an arm about Livian’s waist and escorting her away.
The whole time he watched Livian pass by the world spun dizzyingly around Latimer.
I need her. I need to verify she’s safe. I need to assure her I’ll never let anything happen to her again.
Latimer jerked against Wakefield’s hold. “Livian!” Latimer’s voice emerged as nothing more than a croak.
I need to know she doesn’t hate me. That she isn’t afraid.
I need to see with my own eyes.
“Livian,” he thundered as she and the duchess reached the entrance.
Livian paused and looked back.
The sight of her stricken features sucked all the air from his lungs.
“Come, Miss Lovelace,” the duchess said firmly.
“Liv—”
Wakefield tightened the grip he had on Latimer. “Would you shut your fool mouth, Latimer,” he snapped. “Are you trying to bring the bloody household down?”
That warning along with theclickof the door closing behind Livian and the duchess, managed to, at last, jolt Latimer fully back to his senses.
Wakefield released him and sank to his haunches next to the moaning, battered viscount.
While the earl evaluated the fallen man’s condition, Latimer scraped a hand through his mussed hair.
“Christ.
“Yes, well, I’d been doubtful about the Creator’s existence,” Wakefield prodded and poked the other nobleman, “but given Forfar lives after the vicious beating you handed out, there must be a God—at least, one looking out for you, Latimer.” He looked up. “He lives but will likely regret as much.” He lightly slapped Forfar’s face.
“I don’t care,” Latimer snarled, his fury climbing all over again.
“Under ordinary circumstances, I’d agree. I would not, however, see you hang for one such as this one.” Glaring blackly at the viscount, the earl slapped him firmly on the cheeks. “Wakey, wakey, you cockchafer.”
With a groan, Forfar struggled to open his eyes. “…I’m dead,” he moaned, his words garbled by his swollen mouth and broken teeth.
“Unfortunately, not,” Wakefield said, coming to his feet. “You live to sin another day.”
The pair of nobs forgotten, Latimer took several long strides to go find Livian.
“Don’t even bloody think of it, you shit-fire,” Wakefield hissed. “Or by God, I’ll beat you down myself.”
Stiffening, Latimer turned.
The same twisted rage that’d gripped Latimer now consumed the other man.
Because of Livian.
To believe he’d ever respected the prig and former patron. The sadistic green-eyed monster sank its fangs into Latimer.
“You really think you can stop me?” he sneered.
“No,” the earl said with more of that blunt honesty that, when he’d been a patron, earned Latimer’s appreciation. “I’d try and come damn close, but you’re not going after her because you know to do so would be calamitous for the lady’s reputation.”
