Page 76 of The Wayward Duke
Good God. She’d just got him to admit his money was recent.
Caroline bit her lip and released it slowly. “Is there a place we can continue this conversation in private? After you gents finish your card game?”
The table had fallen silent as the drama unfolded, all pretence of gaming abandoned. The men watched the debauchery play out before them with keen interest.
As Caroline insinuated herself deeper into Pritchard’s embrace, Julian considered the many advantages of murder versus a lifetime in gaol. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and inhaled through his nose, clinging to a fraying thread of control.
Pritchard gazed at her heaving breasts as if ready to devour her whole. “I’ve a mate with a set of rooms close by. Discreet, like. He’ll shove off until I’m through with you.” Another suggestive caress. “A pretty little treat like you might earn herself a few shillings extra if you take my meaning.”
She laughed again, husky and low. A private sound meant only for him. “With such a generous offer, how could any girl resist? How close is it?”
“Osborn Street, love,” he said. “Just above the Hound and Hare. No more than five minutes.”
“Perfect,” she whispered with a brilliant smile. “How soon until you’re finished here?”
Even amid his red haze of fury, Julian admired how easily she’d extracted information he might not have learned even after plying the blackguard with drink.
“Lads,” Pritchard announced, “deal me out. I find myself suddenly very preoccupied.” He lowered his face to her exposed cleavage.
Julian laid down his cards. Yes, he was absolutely going to murder this man – and enjoy it.
Pritchard made to stand, no doubt meaning to hustle Caroline to his seedy rooms.
O’Sullivan finally intervened. The Irishman yanked her off Pritchard’s lap and eased her back a pace. “Leave off. This one’s spoken for tonight.”
“She said she was leaving with me,” Pritchard spat.
O’Sullivan’s glare was lethal. “And I just said she’s spoken for. If you value your jaw remaining in one piece, you’ll either sit back down or get the hell out.”
Pritchard cleared his throat and sat, clearly in no mood to take on a former bare-knuckle fighter over a woman.
“That’s what I thought,” O’Sullivan said. To Caroline, he murmured, “Come with me. Now.”
Pritchard growled out a protest, but O’Sullivan had already pulled her into a side room. Safely out of reach.
Thank God for Nick Thorne’s factotum. He’d saved Pritchard from getting his neck snapped.
But fury and possession continued seething beneath Julian’s skin – a raw-edged madness he’d leashed. It would no longer be restrained once they were behind closed doors without the constraints of duty or appearance.
After waiting several torturous minutes for decorum’s sake, Julian turned from the card table.
He stood, the movement fluid as a blade pulled from its sheath – nothing to suggest the reckless violence roiling just below the surface.
“My apologies, gentlemen. Another hand will have to wait.”
The mask of civility slipped further with each step, the gentleman receding as the feral creature within clawed closer to the surface.Mine, it growled, the word etched by razor claws across his mind. So close now, the object of his hunger.Mine, mine, mine—
Julian shoved open the door.
O’Sullivan and Caroline were locked in a heated debate that ended as they both turned. Whatever she read in Julian’s stark expression made her straighten in comprehension. In unspoken challenge.
Good, he thought.Let her see. Let her reckon with the consequences.
“You—” Julian speared O’Sullivan with an arctic glare promising retribution. “Are lucky you still draw breath.” His focus shifted, raking his wife with a look that coloured her cheeks. “You. Outside,” he bit out. “Now.”
He didn’t wait for her response. Just grasped her wrist and yanked her through the rear door. Outside, the bracing air did nothing to cool the fever beneath his skin. Spying their carriage, Julian bundled her inside.
“Home,” he barked at the driver. “Take the long route.”
