Page 80 of The Duke and his Hellion
Before anyone could react, Charles strode past Beatrice, his fist connecting solidly with Frederic’s jaw. The man went down hard, landing unceremoniously on his rear with a yelp of pain and surprise.
In the next instant, Charles was at Abigail’s side, his hand grasping hers firmly. “Come,” he said, his voice gentle but brooking no argument. “We are leaving.”
As they turned to go, Abigail became aware of a commotion at the edge of the clearing. The small crowd that had been following them earlier had emerged from their hiding spots, their faces masked with shock and disgust.
Whispers broke out among the onlookers, their eyes fixed on Beatrice. Abigail could see the moment realization dawned on the other woman’s face. In the span of a few minutes, she had gone from triumphant to utterly ruined.
But Beatrice seemed beyond caring about her reputation. She lunged forward, grasping at Charles’s sleeve. “No!” she cried, her voice shrill with desperation. “Charles! You cannot leave me! We are meant to be together!”
Charles turned, his eyes flashing with a cold fury that made Beatrice shrink back. “You belong in Bedlam,” he spat, his voice low and dangerous. “If you ever come near my wife or me again, I will make sure you end up there. For now, being shunned by society will have to suffice.”
With that, he turned on his heel, pulling Abigail along with him. As they pushed through the crowd, Abigail could hear Beatrice’s anguished wails behind them, but she didn't dare look back.
They walked in silence, Charles’s grip on her hand never wavering. Abigail’s mind was reeling, trying to process everything that had just happened. Relief warred with lingering fear and confusion, and a thousand questions burned on the tip of her tongue.
It was not until they reached the edge of the park that Charles finally slowed his pace. He turned to face her, his expression softening as he took in her disheveled appearance and tear-stained cheeks.
“Abigail,” he said softly, reaching up to cup her face in his hands. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Charles pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace. Abigail melted into him, her fingers clutching at his coat as she finally allowed herself to break down.
“Shh,” Charles murmured, stroking her hair gently. “It is alright. You are safe now. I've got you.”
As her sobs subsided, Abigail pulled back slightly, looking up at Charles with red-rimmed eyes. “How... how did you know?” she asked, her voice hoarse. “I thought... I thought you believed her.”
A wry smile tugged at Charles's lips. “For a moment, I almost did. My foolish heart… feared it,” he admitted. “But then I remembered something my father once told me — ‘trust, but verify.’ I knew that if I were going to lose you… I had to be certain and then I realized it all seemed so convenient. I knew Beatrice would give up her own foolish game.”
He sighed, shaking his head ruefully. “I should have known something was amiss from the start. The letter I received this morning, supposedly from my mother... it was a forgery. Beatrice must have sent it to ensure I would be in the park at the right time.”
Abigail’s eyes widened as the pieces began to fall into place. “She planned all of this,” she whispered. “From the very beginning… our friendship was nothing but a lie.”
Charles nodded, his expression grim. “It seems she has been plotting for quite some time. But why? What could she possibly hope to gain?”
“She wanted you,” Abigail reminded him softly. “You heard her. She thought... she thought if she could discredit me, make you believe I was unfaithful…”
“Then I would turn to her instead,” Charles finished, his voice tinged with disgust. “As if I could ever want anyone but you, Abigail.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Abigail felt her breath catch in her throat as she met Charles's gaze, seeing the depth of emotion there.
“Charles,” she whispered, her heart pounding. “Do you mean that?”
He smiled then, a warm, genuine smile that made Abigail's knees go weak. “With all my heart,” he said softly. “I love you, Abigail. I think I have from the very beginning, though it took me far too long to realize it.”
Tears sprang to Abigail's eyes once more, but this time they were tears of joy. “Oh, Charles,” she breathed. “I love you too. So very much.”
For a moment, they simply stood there, lost in each other's eyes. Then, slowly, Charles leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was tender and passionate all at once. Abigail melted into him, her arms winding around his neck as she returned the kiss with equal fervor.
When they finally broke apart, both breathless and flushed, Charles rested his forehead against Abigail's. “Let us go home,” he murmured. “We have much to discuss, I think.”
Abigail nodded, a smile playing about her lips. “Yes,” she agreed. “Home sounds perfect.”
As they made their way to the waiting carriage, Abigail couldn't help but marvel at the turn of events. What had started as a nightmare had somehow transformed into a dream come true. She knew there would be challenges ahead — the scandal of Beatrice's actions would no doubt cause ripples throughout society — but with Charles by her side, she felt ready to face anything.
The carriage pulled away from the curb, carrying them towards Grouton Manor and the promise of a future filled with love and happiness. As London fell away behind them, Abigail leaned her head on Charles's shoulder, feeling truly at peace for the first time since their marriage began.
Abigail closed her eyes, a small smile playing about her lips. Whatever the future held, she knew that she and Charles would face it together.
CHAPTER39
