Page 59 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“No.” He withdrew a card from his pocket and extended it. “I’m the Duke of Thornley, cousin to the queen.” A very, very distant relation that came about through a series of marriages, not bloodline, but he wasn’t opposed to adding weight to his title when warranted.
The man who had been standing straight as a board went even straighter, paled considerably, and nodded with such force it was a wonder his head didn’t go flying off. “Certainly, Your Grace, I can arrange for you to have a word with him in the chief inspector’s office.”
“Not necessary to go to such bother. A quick visit in his cell should suffice. It won’t take me but a minute.”
“As you wish, sir. If you’ll follow me.” He grabbed a ring of keys and led the way down one corridor, a set of stairs, and then another corridor, only this one contained a series of iron doors. He opened one at the end.
“I’d like you to stay on this side of the door in the hallway until I knock,” Thorne instructed him in a manner that indicated it was not a request but an order.
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
He gave an appreciative smile. “Good man.”
He walked in and closed the door. Charlie McFarley sat on a rather uncomfortable-looking wooden bench that no doubt also served as the bed. The fellow slowly came to his feet, his fists clenched, his eyes narrowed. His effort to look intimidating lost some of its edge due to his misaligned jaw. “Who ye?” he mumbled.
“The gent you robbed the other night outside the Mermaid and Unicorn.”
Rolling his eyes, he attempted a sneer that simply looked ridiculous since his mouth wasn’t working properly. “The watch is gone,” was torturously muttered, the words barely recognizable.
“I don’t care about the watch.” With a quick step forward, he plowed his balled fist into the bastard’s gut—hard.
With a grunt, gasping for breath, Charlie McFarley dropped to his knees. Thorne crouched, grabbed him by his filthy long hair, and jerked his head back until he could hold the man’s gaze. “Last night you bruised Miss Trewlove. If you or any of your cronies ever lay so much as a finger on her again, I shall see you hanged. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
Charlie McFarley nodded as much as he was able with the vise-like grip Thorne had on him. Thorne tossed him aside like the rubbish he was.
Turning for the door, he needed only two steps to bang on it. It opened and he marched out, feeling a great deal of satisfaction. He couldn’t protect Gillie from all the unpleasantness of life, but he intended to do what he could.
Sometime later he strode into his residence, and his stomach immediately rumbled. It was early enough that breakfast was still being served, so he headed for the breakfast dining room, having failed to take into account it was late enough that his mother would be there.
“You stink of her,” she spat, wrinkling her nose in disgust, rendering her judgment as was her preferred manner for welcoming the day.
“Her?” he asked mildly as he went over to the sideboard and began filling his plate with an assortment of offerings.
“The woman in whose bed you spent the night.”
He realized she was correct, as he could smell the faintest hint of Gillie in his clothes. “I daresay, you have bloodhound in your bloodlines. I shall instruct my valet not to launder my clothing then so I may inhale her sweet fragrance whenever I like.”
“You’re disgusting.”
He took his place at the table. “Good morning to you as well, Mother.”
“I could always smell the stench of the women with whom your father slept. You’re just like him.”
That his father had not honored his vows was one of the things that had most disappointed him about his sire, but he saw nothing to be gained in harping on the previous duke’s shortcomings, even if those indiscretions had led to the duke’s illness and eventual madness. For a time, he’d made all their lives a living hell. “It’s been nearly a dozen years since his passing. Surely by now, you should try to move past his transgressions.”
“Never.” Taking a sip of her tea, she glared at him over the rim of her delicate bone china cup, the slightest tremble visible. “Has there been any luck locating the girl?”
“I assume you’re referring to Lavinia. No. However, I had a recent letter from her indicating she ran off in order to be with someone else.” Not her precise words, but he didn’t feel a need to share the details. “Therefore, we will not marry.”
Her eyes slammed closed, her jaw tightened. She looked to be on the verge of erupting. Had she been a volcano, he had little doubt the earth would be obliterated. Finally she opened her eyes. “Have you spoken with Collinsworth regarding this debacle?”
“I have.”
“And what reparations is he prepared to make?”
Wishing he’d had the good sense to have a tray of food delivered to his bedchamber, he arched a brow at her. “Reparations?”
“Yes. The girl broke the betrothal. You are within your rights to sue.”
