Page 72 of His Mad Duchess
Margaret’s chin lifted, her voice cool and cutting. “Do not trouble yourself, sir. Whatever insult you meant to form, I assure you I have already heard cleverer and from men with twice your wit.”
He chuckled darkly, leaning nearer. “Not madness, then? Curious… Society cannot seem to agree whether you are touched with fire or folly. Tell me, Duchess, do you delight in keeping them guessing?”
Margaret’s pulse raced, bravado fraying as she silently willed Sebastian to appear. Still, she forced her chin higher, though his hand had already claimed her wrist, the strength in his grasp rooting her in place. “You are a fool!” she spat, struggling. “Leave me! Or I swear?—”
The sound of boots against the polished floor cut through the tension like a blade. Sebastian’s voice, low, cold, and full of restrained wrath, rang out. “Release her.”
The man froze, eyes flicking toward the commanding figure now stepping between them.
Sebastian’s tall frame, perfectly still yet radiating lethal control, filled the small space.
The man’s smirk faltered. He released Margaret abruptly, a hand running nervously down his lapel. “I… I only?—”
“Step away from her!” Sebastian growled, voice low, dangerous, and unrelenting. His other hand flexed, ready, the sheer tension in his stance warning of what might come next. “Now.”
His hand shot out like lightning, gripping the man by the shoulder and shoving him back with a force that sent him stumbling. The man’s head snapped against the polished floor with a sharp thud, and his smirk vanished, replaced by shock.
The man, pale and shaking, attempted a weak protest. “I… she…”
Sebastian’s fist swung in a controlled, precise punch to the man’s jaw, not brutal but enough to leave him reeling and finally retreating. “Do not presume again,” Sebastian hissed, eyes blazing. “Do you understand me?”
The man staggered, clutching his face, and without another word, he melted back into the crowd, leaving only the wake of his humiliation behind.
When he turned to Margaret, there was no softness in his face, only a cutting chill. “You should not have been here alone.”
Her breath caught, the sting of his words sharp. “I needed air. I did not think?—”
“No,” he interrupted, voice low, flat, merciless. “You did not think. And this…” He jerked his head toward the man, who was retreating under the icy weight of his glare. “Is the consequence.”
Margaret’s spine straightened, though her heart thudded. “I am not a child, Sebastian. I can defend myself.”
“You would have been forced before you raised so much as a hand,” he returned, each syllable edged in steel.
Her lips parted in outrage. “And you think me so weak as that? That I would stand idle and let myself be overpowered? I am not some trembling fool to collapse at the first shadow of danger.”
“And in that moment, you invited danger.” His gaze swept her face, lingering on the way her breath shook. “Do you think I can be everywhere at once? That I will always arrive before the worst happens?”
Her chin lifted, though her throat was tight. “I am not helpless.”
“You are vulnerable,” he countered, the words dropping like cold iron between them. “And that is why I would see you guarded. But you must guard yourself as well. Do you understand me?”
Margaret’s breath caught, then released in a sharp exhale. His voice—so cutting, so certain—scraped against the jumble of gratitude and indignation rising in her chest. “You speak as though I were a child in need of a nursemaid,” she snapped, color rising high in her cheeks.
“I speak as a man who just pulled you out of a stranger’s hands.” His jaw flexed, the line of his mouth hard as stone. “Would you rather I had left you to prove your independence?”
Her fingers curled against her skirts. The sting of shame mixed with the sting of his words until it burned too fiercely to contain. “Why do you care, Sebastian?” The question broke from her lips, sharper than she intended. “One moment you’re cold as glass, the next you burn with rage if I so much as breathe without your permission. Why? Why should my safety matter to you?”
Something dark flared in his eyes. He opened his mouth, shut it again, then finally ground out, “Because you are mine to protect.”
“Yours?” she echoed, incredulous, her laugh catching on the edge of hysteria. “You cannot claim me as if I were property you keep in your pocket while you spend your nights chasing every whispered scandal in London!”
His eyes narrowed, storm brewing. “You think me so base?”
“I think you’re everything you pretend to be,” she retorted, voice shaking but fierce. “A rake, a libertine, and a man who guards nothing but his own pleasure. And if that is what you are, then perhaps…” She broke off, her breath sharp as she forced the words out. “Perhaps I ought to find someone else who values me.”
That struck. His whole frame went taut, his shoulders bunching as though bracing against a blow. When he spoke, his voice was low, dangerous.
“You will not,” he said.
