Page 8 of The Duke's Unclaimed Bride
Laurence’s fists twitched, but he kept his breathing even.
“Mama!” the boy cried. “I’m sorry! I promise I’ll be good forever, just don’t let the monster get me!” He wept.
“I’m so sorry, sir. My boy, he doesn’t know w-what he’s saying,” the woman stammered.
The crowd seemed to exhale and step back.
Laurence’s eyes swept over the onlookers. Years had passed since he’d earned his scars, yet people still scattered like frightened birds at his approach.
He knew what they whispered behind his back.
The Scarred Duke. The Beast of Alderbourne.
To the children, he was simply a monster.
His gaze lingered on the crowd before settling on the boy, who was still trembling.
“Be careful next time,” he gritted out. “Or else I’ll come again.”
Upon hearing Laurence’s menacing words, the child let out a squeak of fear and buried his face into his mother’s side.
Laurence sighed and turned to see that James had finally caught up to him.
James glanced at the gawking crowd and frowned. “Blast it,” he muttered. “They’d be cheering if anyone else had saved the child.”
“You forget that I am not anyone else,” Laurence said, walking away from the scene.
James took one last look at the onlookers, then followed after him. “You know, old friend, I think I know just the thing to cheer you up.”
And Laurence knew that meant nothing but trouble.
One week later, Laurence would come to regret agreeing to James’s plan.
The ballroom glittered with chandeliers, couples glided across the polished dance floor, and the hum of polite conversation mingled with the clink of glasses. Wine flowed freely, and laughter floated over the orchestra’s music.
Until a scream and a thud cut through the merriment.
Guests gasped, clutching their skirts and coats as a young debutante lay sprawled on the floor. She had only needed to look at Laurence to faint.
Laurence’s hands twitched at his sides, his temper fraying. How had James convinced him to agree to this torture?
“Oh, my word!” James called out to direct the guests’ attention away from Laurence. “She must have drunk too much wine, combined with the heat in this room!”
“Stop,” Laurence growled.
“Your Grace, let me—” James started, but Laurence was already walking toward the doors.
James grabbed his arm and led him to a quiet corner of the ballroom. “Old boy, if you leave now, you’ll look guilty,” he murmured.
“Guilty of what? A woman collapsed, James. And I didn’t touch her,” Laurence scoffed.
“You know what the ton is like. You can’t be seen running,” James cautioned.
“And yet I am not exactly being made to feel welcome here,” Laurence snarled.
“Well, if you hadn’t spent so long being a recluse and had worked on getting a wife sooner, perhaps we would not be in this position,” James chided.
“I would not need to be a recluse if the ton wasn’t so?—”
